Silhouette of a Stranger
by Ravenwithclaws
Summary: Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives.
1. Tainted Reality

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary: **

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation.**

**Thanks again to "Angie_stl" for all for your support and wondrous praise. You've kept me on my toes. **

**Chapter 1: Tainted Reality**

"_I dreamed I was missing, you were so scared _

_But no one would listen, 'cause no one else cared _

_After my dreaming, I woke with this fear _

_What am I leaving when I'm done here?"_

_Linkin Park, Leave out all the rest_

She meandered the car through the cobbled streets, red flags falling from windows and doors as they whistled mournfully in the wind. The sky was painted a festive pale cerulean, the opposite of my hurried and dishevelled thoughts. My fingers were tight around the door handle; just waiting for the signal to leap out amongst the sea of flesh was agonising.

I had the door open before the car pulled to a halt in a small street, a mass of red capes obscuring the windscreen. My heart thudded painfully against my ribcage. Her small voice was a sharp hiss, "They're _everywhere!_"

I cringed at the sudden though of launching myself through the mass of people. She pointed towards the winding street that was exposed to raw sunlight, it blinding me even further causing me to cover my eyes with my arm. "Forget about them. You have two minutes. Go, Bella, go!"

I didn't pause in my running to see Alice melt into the distant background, but rather hurled through the crowd, forcing my body-weight against the wall of skin and bone, I was glad I couldn't understand their foreign curses.

The principle plaza was bathed in daylight, every cobblestone and crevice in the walled city was uncovered by the light. The clock was visible – its omnipresent mechanical hands taunting me with each time consuming moment, it moving closer and closer to the moment I was dreading. I was glad for its visibility, as it drove me to move faster against the pain lashing my body like a whip. I forced my shoulder against a large woman, the red scarf draped around her neck like a column of blood weeping from a laceration. A child was perched upon his father's shoulder, an expression of laughter drawn on his thin lips, a pair of plastic vampire fangs perched upon his teeth.

I strained my hearing for the sound of a gasp, cry of discovery or even a gut-curdling scream. The sound of Edward stepping into the light. To reveal himself. To join me in death. Nothing came.

The absence of their shrieks was trembling and I shoved through a pillar of the ever-present red, my own voice hidden within the folds of muscle in my throat. I was foot-lengths away from the fountain in the middle of the plaza. Throwing my strides over the edge, my cries of relief were silent sobs in the screeching amusement of the occupied crowd; I sprinted through the knee-deep water that stung my legs with an icy chill.

The throng of people parted for me, my dripping wet clothes a bad omen, and I ran. Forcing every each of my exhausted power into my legs, heaving every thought I had of Edward into my pace, I hurried towards his shadowed figure as he walked into the sunlight.

I screamed relentlessly. "Edward!" His face never registered my yells.

The clock struck and it rung in my ears, and in the uneven ground below my feet and it drove me forwards. He stepped closer, his shirt dipping to the floor and his chest was exposed – diamonds lacing his skin like tiny shards of mirrors. His face was tattooed behind my eyes.

The clock tolled again, this time louder. It shook my whole being, my rib-cage vibrating with its inexorable ticking.

A family of four was standing with their backs to Edward. A small girl aged around five, her long curtain of blonde hair flowing down her back in the now stiff wind, turned and gaped at Edward, her eyes wide with a sudden excitement. She tugged at her father's cape, cooing for his attention.

"No!" I screamed. "Edward, look at me!"

He smiled lightly, my presence to him a simple hallucation of what I might be in death. He stepped forward hesitantly, his breaths deep and echoing my strained footsteps, his full body encased in sunlight. The ring of shadow around his feet glistened with an incandescent shimmer, the extensive influence of his torture over leaving me playing on his face – the shallow cheekbones, thin lips that were dry and cracked, his eyes coal-black and dark crescents hanging below them.

I threw my whole weight against him, if he had not caught me in his arms as a reflex I knew I would be laying on the hard stone floor. The clock chimed on the hour. Edward pushed against me, his powerful grasp restricting the blood-flow in my upper arms. "Amazing," he sounded somewhat awed. "Carlisle was right."

"Edward, open your eyes. I'm alive." He didn't respond and my heart twisted, extracting every breath from my lungs. I stumbled against finding my silent voice.

He stroked my cheekbone adoringly like he had done before the terrible events of the past few months. Even in being the most danger any mortal human could ever have been in – _let's say immortal vampires wanting to eat you and the love of your life wanting to die cause he thought you were dead! _– I felt as if the hole that had been punched into my chest and had been slowly eroding and corrupting my thoughts of Edward was finally healing. Inhaling his scent and touching his face was a dream. My hallucations of Edward had not done him in justice – now that I could see every sculptured bone and chiselled features in his face I realised this.

He continued to push against me, unaware of his surroundings or situation. The clock gave its final chime, it ricocheting through the plaza with a thunderous roar.

My arms ached as they pushed against him. It was like forcing all of my weight against a brick wall. "We have to move. They can't be far behind." I cried uselessly. My last words fell empty in the air as a red haze fell against my vision, two pairs of eyes watching me closely. Edward felt limp in my grasp. The diamonds that once were embedded in his granite skin dimming and losing their internal shine. Pain flooded through my fingertips and my body met the ground. Everything went black.

**#$!**

I awoke in a fit of sweat and laboured breathing to the ringing of a fist against my front door. I rubbed the crease between my brows and checked my alarm clock, hitting the button sharply so the time was projected against the wall as the curtains were shut and my room was eerily dark. It was 9.45.

I threw off my sheets hastily, silently cursing my nightmares. Throwing on my cardigan to keep the edge of the chill from my skin, I strode hurriedly to my front door and looked through the small peep hole, my tired eyes making my vision slightly blurred. It was Tessa, my colleague. I recognised her instantly by the stream of red hair that was bundled at the back of her head, stray coils framing her angular face – she had the prettiest green eyes, they are bottle-green and in one eye, if you looked close enough, you could see a small flick of blue in the iris.

"Are you awake in there?" she shouted, rapping her fist against the door harder. "Bella, get up!"

I pulled the chain away from the door and twisted the handle, the door swung inward. "Morning," I yawned, stretching my arms groggily and placing a hand over my mouth as I displayed my exhaustion in the form of a deep yawn.

"Morning?" she shouted, strolling in, her Prada bag draped over her shoulder proudly. "That was hours ago, Bella. You slept in?" she questioned, eying my suspiciously as I sat down on the couch and pulled my feet up. Tessa had always been a frantic about time-keeping. "Didn't you!" she enforced when I refused to answer.

I gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry," I tried to apologise.

"Sorry doesn't cut it. This isn't going to look good when it comes to reviewing our records," her expression was stern.

"I know," I murmured, tugging at a loose string on an old cushion. "You know, sometimes I think drinking coffee late at night isn't good for me."

"To right it isn't," Tessa laughed softly, her mood lightening. She slipped her bag onto the floor gently and adjusted the sleeves of her shirt at her wrists. Tessa was only small, but even for her size she packed a punch. She had been the first I had met when I had come here. We had clicked within an instant. Now she was the only reason I was awake half the time, otherwise I'd be trying to catch some more sleep.

"Dreams again?" she asked, sitting down next to me. She placed a hand on my shoulder condolingly.

"Ten points for the correct answer," I tried to reply with some enthusiasm, however it came out dull and lifeless. My voice was now hiding away when it came to my recent dreams.

"You have to tell someone, Bella? If they're going to start interfering with your work, that's not right," she sighed heavily.

I looked at her, desperate for some kind of reassurance. "Do you ever have dreams that keep you awake at night?"

"Oh yes, of course," she giggled, putting a hand to her throat lightly.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow. "So, tell me. I bet there so much more tragic than mine."

"I dream of the day when Jonny Depp finally asks me to marry him and then," I started to laugh but I silenced myself when she turned her head sharply in my direction, her eyes narrowed. "I will, of course, say yes! Then we'll plan the whole wedding – the theme will be fantasy, no wait, I want a traditional wedding – anyways, then we'll go on the perfect honeymoon and commit to our love. You know?" she nudged me playfully in the shoulder. "See how he performs in the bedroom?"

I gagged, choking on the hilarity of her dreams. "Don't go into detail on that one. You can just imagine that one yourself," I sniggered, feeling almost better.

"Oh don't worry, honey. It's quite personal anyways." She winked cheekily before standing up, brushing at her dark pencil skirt, and rushed into the kitchen. "Do you want coffee?" she shouted, the shuffling of the appliances being heard a few seconds afterwards.

"Sure," I replied. "I'm just going to have a quick shower first though."

Locking the bathroom door, I turned on the shower and let it warm up first, steam covering the glass panels in sheets of mist. The tiled flooring was cold against my bare feet. Looking into the small mirror I examined my exhausted reflection. My brown eyes looked tired and faded, my hair was even worse – it was matted to my head in what looked like a bird's nest of matted mahogany hair. I ran my fingers through it; however I gave up when it become painful as it got caught in the tangles.

Stripping my clothes off quickly to avoid the nip of the cold, I stepped into the shower and turned the nozzle to the highest setting, letting the hot water trickle over my face and warm me to the core. I stood there for five minutes just to feel the spray of water against my body – to praise the moment as the knotted muscles in my back relax and I felt my shoulders slump comfortably. Grabbing the lavender shampoo, I preceded to washing my hair.

The dream washed over me again and again as I cleaned my hair, the smell of lavender reminding me of the Cullen's. I had ran for Edward, given my life to him for safe keeping, but when I had went to save him he had threw it all back in my face. "Go home, Bella," he had told me sternly, as my heart had leapt into my throat all of a sudden. "We can never be together, I never loved you," he finished. That's what he had said to make me leave, and I believed. He had gotten his wish alright. He would never see me again – I hated him now, every particle and fibre of his being, I resented against it. I wish he knew it as well. Edward had ripped my heart out and had trampled across it. Now I was returning the favour, if he had a heart.

Because of him I was almost killed by the Volturi – my neck inches away from Aro's fangs. He had bargained my mortality for our escape, if I was changed we would be let go. Of course, the bargain was changed according to Edward's manipulating decisions.

After that I had to spend years with a pack of mongrels to protect me through high school as the Cullen's left Forks, with a decoy I was to know nothing about. "It's only a small protection detail," he had said. When I had the first chance, I left Forks and went to college to study for an education degree. Now I taught English Literature at a university in London, in England. Hopefully it was far enough to stay away from the supernatural, and the _Cullen's_.

The soap that has been clutched tightly between my fingers slipped from my grasp and clattered to the base of the shower loudly. If that didn't demonstrate how much I hated Edward, than nothing would – taking my anger out on a bar of innocent soap!

"That feels better," I said, coming out of my room, having gotten ready in my clean skirt and pearl-white blouse, running my fingers through my damp hair dutifully.

"I'm glad, worked off the extra stress?" Tessa asked, handing me the coffee and putting a plate of fresh toast on the table, the butter melting into the toast nicely.

My stomach gurgled hungrily. "You're a genuine life-saver, Tessa. What time are we due in?"

"We were going to brain-storm our idea's together this morning for the big presentation at the end of the week, but I think we can leave that till tomorrow night," she added. "The time now is half-past ten, but we are not officially needed until twelve." She glanced at her watch and then sipped at her tea – Tessa was mostly full on British with her traditions, she had never even tasted coffee before I had pulled her into the closest Starbucks.

_She's such a liberal British role-model. I'm just the small-town American outcast. Even the students notice my appalling and unrehearsed mimic of the British dialect. It's viral amongst us American's, who ever thought the British were as complicated as they are?_

I bite into my toast ravenously, savouring the taste. "I thought Professor Riley was really bugging us for it be finished soon as," I noted, clicking my fingers.

"I'm sure Mr Riley Biers can wait a couple of centuries while I sort my best friend out with a little shopping, the annual Christmas Ball is coming up and you have nothing to wear," she answered exasperated, her eyes live with an manic excitement

I groaned, pulling the hairbrush through my snarled hair to hide away the sour expression that was pulled tightly on my lips. _And with Christmas, brings the dreaded snow days and the constant slipping on the pavement ice, _I thought wildly.

"By nothing to wear, does your pragmatics imply I'll be going in my birthday suit?" I questioned, glancing at her side-wards with a raised eyebrow.

Tessa rolled her eyes instinctively; the clatter of the saucer and tea-cup ringing in my ears as she placed them gently on the diminutive coffee table, the tea sloshing around inside the cup. "I'm sure Luke would love to see that," she sniggered.

I folded my hands at my lap, "Are you still trying to play that silly trivial dating game with me? I've told you, I am not, and never will be convinced, to go to another one of them imprudent and ludicrous dating meetings again. The last one was thwarting enough."

Her amusement didn't settle, but was profoundly weighty and extreme in the way her laughter didn't cease to resonate in the room for at least a few minutes. It sounded like the heavy thrum of a bass drum rumbling to the pulse of Tessa's giggles.

_My friend has such strange methods of dating, and rather high opinions of relationships, _I reflected to myself. _She has three rules: One – Have a six-pack! Two – At first don't respond to his attention, it pulls him in further. Three – If he walks all over you, walk out, you're the boss of the relationship._ _Like that's going to work. I'm destined to be a spinster._

"Stop laughing, Teresa," the use of her full name, brought her attention back down from the clouds, I even thought I heard the click of a switch as she was pulled down from heaven. She scowled profoundly. Circles of blush were painted on my cheeks as my face burnt with embarrassment, "It was an accident. He forgave me," I tried to reason.

"He walked out of that meeting looking like he missed the toilet by an hour. Honestly, Bella, I think his forgiveness," she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, "was a falsehood. He totally conned you on the spot, sweetie. He's never been back to a meeting since that night."

I shrugged my shoulders, "At least he smelt like wine for the rest of the night rather than that outlandish cologne he was wearing."

"At least he was trying, unlike someone," she poked me in the arm.

I gazed at her apologetically, "He smelt like an old drawer that hadn't been opened in a millennia. It was far too musty for my taste."

"You have such unrealistic expectations in men, Bella, it's illusory."

I snorted, a word lodged in my throat. "You have no idea."

**#$!**

Tessa had dragged me by the arm across a multitude of shops, all of their dressier items for the Christmas ball far too expensive and couldn't be afforded by a simple teacher's salary. Tessa's father was part of a rich oil refinery so her purse could meet the expenses of anything by the slip of her dad's debit card. I rolled my eyes, if only Charlie's unpretentious job as the chief of police filled my pockets – unfortunately, Forks most wanted criminal list had been dwindling lately so work was scarce.

_That reminds me, I haven't called Charlie in two weeks. His fatherly worry will be hyper-drive. Also, my erratic and unpredictable mother will want an update on my speed dating endeavours. _

London's underground was packed with loads of people; I was squashed between two burly lawyers in suits with Tessa's bags spilled across my knees. "I think you have maximised your spending limits in about an hour," I told her.

Like I had predicted, with every new shop we had hit, Tessa came out with at least three new purchases. At the breakneck rate she was moving at – it was almost at vampire speed – she would have to change her clothes four times every day to use them up in a week. _She would have gotten on great with Alice, _my throat clenched at the thought.

"Don't be so morbid, Bella. I did a good deed by donating my money away to the needy workers in the shops," she said.

"In return, I'm sure they would gladly return the favour by packing your items for you," I replied, the train jerking so the two lawyers sitting by me were nudging me in the ribs painfully as they sat unknowingly.

_We will be stopping at Oxford Circus in a few minutes, please remember to take your belongings with you when you leave, _the speaker on the train announced. I breathed a sigh of deep relief. One more stop to go and then I could get off this nightmare transport.

Tessa rummaged through her bags, "One of your bags hasn't swallowed up your purchases now has it?" I questioned, watching carefully.

"In that case, my new pair of gloves is being digested right now amongst my lost scarf and red sweater in the folds of this bag," Tessa grumbled, on her knee's searching frantically for any sign of her missing attire. She cursed quietly, "Dammit. That's the third time this week."

The train lurched to a sudden halt, wrenching me around in my seat and the bags dropping to the floor. The two lawyers that were sat next to me stood up amongst the throng of people and stumbled towards the door, their thick gravelly voices lost amongst the swarm of flesh and chatter.

"Can't help a lady with her bags," I growled unpleasantly.

Tessa placed a comforting hand on my wrist, pulling my scowl away from their retreating figures. "They're jerks, Bella. It must be heredity."

I tugged a lose strand of hair behind my ear, "Are you associated with their un-gentleman like manners?"

"Oh, yes I am," she slurred, dropping her head as she gathered the contents of the fallen bags and packing it away hurriedly.

The doors still hadn't shut and the train sat idle in the station like a giant metal monster and we were now seated within its steal-framework ribcage. A shudder rippled up my spine. "How do you know them?" I asked curiously.

"They are friends with Jack at the law firm he is employed at, they work together. They're both so bizarre and out-of-this-world. My brother even admits that their peculiar."

I shouldered her playfully, "I must have eye problems because I didn't seen antenna or the green skin on either of them. Scratch out the option that they are aliens."

"More like alienated," she suggested, her lips pursed in a tight line.

Just before the train started to growl underneath us, like it was being wound up like a string toy before being released to move, I risked a peak and gazed upon the two deathly pale lawyers I had been sat next to. Their faces were somewhat familiar, but my brain couldn't think through the thick haze.

_Next stop Warren Street, _the announcer declared over the speaker as the train pulled from the station.

As we rode towards our destination, Tessa was silent and her eyes never reached beyond the ground – _something is on her mind – _but I didn't intrude on her stillness. Surely if something was wrong she could confide in me.

My mind racked over every face I had ever seen trying to find a proverbial match to the two strangers: one had a burly build and looked out of character in a suit, menacing even, with cropped black hair and brown eyes, his skin was also tainted with an olive complexion underneath his pale skin. The other was smaller than the first, but he looked to some extent threatening in the way he smiled, revealing his teeth and licking his lips, with swooping dark hair and grey monotonous eyes.

"Look at this," my voice was sharp and it stung Tessa awake from her reverie, I felt like every pair of eyes was on me, I shrunk away self-consciously. "Someone must have dropped it," I said, looking at the small black ring I had picked up from the floor.

"That thing, it's like an ugly duckling," Tessa noted, surveying the ring for a second before wrinkling her nose in disgust and turning away.

It was if the whole train of people were being weighted down by an adverse and undesirable hush, like the air was thick with a smothering mist and it created an eerie stillness in the carriages of the train, Tessa included.

"Strange," I murmured to myself, running my finger lightly over the design of the ring. It was completely black and it fit my finger perfectly, in the middle was the etched design of a coal-black dahlia. Something at the back of my mind tingled, but I took no notice.

Our slow journey continued in an unnatural peace and quiet.

We came to our stop faster than I had expected and when the underground stopped and the doors slid open, myself and Tessa, my hands red and raw from carrying so many bags already, staggered off and onto the platform.

"Thank God for that, I thought we would never get off." Tessa exclaimed, taking a deep breath. Blood flooded her cheeks, fighting away the deathly paleness that had crept over her.

"Myself included, it was li –" my sentence was quickly cut off when I caught a glimpse of a man stepping onto the train, beautiful dark skin with dreadlocks half-way down his back. The train soon disappeared into the underground tunnels and with it, took the mysterious man that sent goosebumps over my skin.

"Earth to Bella. Are you alive in there?" she tapped at my forehead.

I blinked a few times to rid myself of the image, "Sorry. Now what's so important you broke off my heavenly daze," I asked my sarcasm more than subtle.

"Put your walking feet on," she tapped her watch. "Otherwise we are going to be late."

Picking up the bags hastily and holding onto them tightly, we spun on our heels and jogged up to the ticket machines, slotting them in quickly and then pushing through the revolving bar and shoving through the crowd – they aimed curses at us we continued to press on. Dashing up the stairs we were blinded primarily by the sun, I shaded my eyes with my hand, and then hurried, with the bags threatening to trip us up, down Tottenham City Road. We meandered through a labyrinth of winding streets, I was grateful for the tall primal walls of the shops to shield me from the penetrating rays of the sun, and emerged on Malet Street just as a heard Big Ben toll on the hour.

**#$!**

Birkbeck College, part of the London University, was abandoned, there was only the odd straggler of a late student and the fast scurry of a teacher, their hands filled with a column of papers ready to photocopy or distribute.

I took a deep breath, hurrying down the narrow corridor of red walls. "Hope I'm not late," I murmured, quickening my pace until I was almost jogging.

Tessa had departed and went to teach her own class, her's was nearer to the front of the complex building of twisting passageways. Running up two flights of stairs, keeping my eyes on my feet to make sure I didn't trip, I came towards a strip of offices which belonged to the lecturers.

"Late again, Bella," Neville, a teaching assistant with smoggy glasses, called from his office. _He must have a free period this morning, _I recalled.

I stopped momentarily at the frame of his doorway and peered in, "Tessa had me across half of London searching for an outfit for the Christmas Ball. I think she bought half of London," I replied, with a half-smile.

"Now, Bella, save your exaggeration for the lecture, I have a free-lesson and for now I want to avoid anything to do with English. I need a break," he said, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head.

I gave him the thumbs up, "I have to go, class and all."

"By all means, go. I didn't meant to keep you," he apologised, waving me away.

I stopped by my small partially-furnished office, checking the time warily on the clock. _I can just make it, if I hurry, _I thought, already opening a desk door and storing my bag inside and locking it away for save-keeping. Surveying myself quickly in the mirror; I felt my hair sticking to my face, using my fingers to brush it away and tie it up into a loose bun and rubbing away any smudged makeup. _At least I can look presentable_, I gathered the already prepared work notes, not even noticing the thick brown envelope lying on my desk and left for the classroom.

"Perhaps she's absent," a student mumbled as they strode into the lecture hall, already having heard of my nonattendance in the classroom, not noticing my approaching presence.

"I highly doubt it: late, yes, off, I don't think so," another one countered. "Professor Swan would never not come into class," Lauren, a small and perky student said, pulling the straps of her backpack off her shoulders.

I ran inside to meet the stares of many gazing eyes – some irritated by my presence, others happy to find they weren't to be submitted to torture of a substitute lecturer. Reaching my desk at the front of the room, I lay down the pile of sheets and rubbed my sore hands together. "Good morning, class. How are you today?"

Some mumbled their reply; other's shouted it ecstatically, waving their hands in the air to catch my attention. "I hope you all have your copy of Jane Eyre, we're going to continue taking notes on the chapters," I stated.

Picking up my own battered copy with post-it notes littering the pages with speedy writing, I opened to the page required, "Chapter fifteen please, students."

There was an echoing shuffle of pages and I caught the smell of parchment and ink, "Now, what do you think is Rochester's intention is when telling Jane about his and Adele's past?"

In the crowd I thought I caught a sight of a student with a tuff of bronze hair. I blinked twice, concealing my perplexity as the students looked around nervously for an answer to my question.

Tapping my foot, I decided to end their puzzlement. I bit my lip, "Mr Rochester is tormented by his awareness of his past sins and misdeeds, therefore he confides in Jane about his past with Adele's mother Celine Varens–"

Pen's scratched against paper furiously, as I took a breath relaxing the knots in my chest. "Celine was in relations with another man, and Rochester ended the relationship immediately after finding out. He always denied he was Adele's father, after Celine's claims–"

From the corner of my eye I caught the shadowed figure sitting in one of the back rows emerge; bronze hair, liquid golden eyes, skin as pale as a lily's and a smile curving at the corner of his lips.

It couldn't be. Not Edward.

My heart lurched as his eyes met mine directly and the book fell flat from my grasp onto the floor, the multitude of coloured sticky notes floating in the air like a cloud of burning cinders before dropping to the floor and lying like ash.


	2. Misguided Faith

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, except Tessa and Duncan.**

**Thanks again to Angie_stl for all of your encouragement and mind-blowing praise. And to everyone else who has requested persistently that a second chapter must be written as soon as possible to satisfy their thirst for more.**

**Chapter 2: Misguided Faith**

"_You take the breath right out of me._

_You left a hole where my heart should be._

_You got to fight just to make it through,_

_'cause I will be the death of you"_

_- Breaking Benjamin, Breath_

I doubt if another lecturer had been rendered speechless by such a trivial exploit, their class would burst out into significant laughter. Not mine. They sat staring with blank eyes at the mismatched mosaic of colourful shapes extending over the floor like a bucket of incompatible dyes being thrown together. Charlotte Bronte would have objected strongly to my inconsequential demonstration of a jolting surprise; her character of Jane Eyre never would have shown Mr Rochester such drawn sentiments.

Edward just sat at the back; never flinching or even removing his hooded gaze from its hovering position at my startled gaping.

By now a few students had pulled out their mobiles and were secretively communicating with social network sites at my humorous display or even taking pictures of the weaving pattern around my feet. "Put them away, please," I stated, trying to raise my voice above a whisper.

"Pens at ready," I said, stepping out of the archetype of sticky-notes and picking up my battered copy of Jane Eyre. "When Celine abandoned her daughter however, Rochester brought little Adele to England so that she may be properly cared for, however he states that he holds very little interest in the girl as she holds to many of her mother's "traits and personalities". What does this tell you about Celine Varens?" I questioned, scrambling to try and regain my natural composure.

"She was a French Opera Dancer?" a student said, raising their hand. I nodded my agreement.

"Vain and conceited, she only cared for his money," another shouted.

"Good," I responded, pulling my eyes away from Edward. "During the Victorian era which Jane Eyre was written within, woman needed a decent marriage for social security. Celine Varens targeted Mr Rochester because of his large fortune; which he gained after his marriage to Bertha Mason and his inheritance which was given to his older brother, Rowland, at first, however Edward procured it after his brother and father's sudden death," I said, pacing back and forth with my eyes cast down at the words leisurely.

Sparing a quick glance at the clock as pens scratched furiously against paper, I noted it's slow pacing and gave a heavy sigh of irritation. "Celine Varens, Mr Rochester's former mistress, only cared for dancing, singing and having pretty dresses and toys," I relayed, turning the page.

"I think Rochester was foolish and imprudent in his actions," a student yelled, interrupting my trail of thought. Justine was short with a plain elfin face and long brunette hair, which was tied up in a messy tail down her back – she somewhat reminded me of myself when I was younger: shy and in need of comforting reassurance a few times.

Justine blushed deeply when everyone turned to watch her. "Carry on," I shouted, beckoning her to continue.

"He now regrets his former libertinism and lustfulness in women, for example the exotic Bertha Mason and the French Opera Dancer Celine Varens – French suggesting "the language of love"(I would use the single quote marks here since it's inside a spoken sentence) – and has found his kindred spirit in Jane. However, I believe he has always been in a weaker position due to being on the verge of his loneliness, psychological vulnerability and near abandoning passion altogether. I believe his former acts of desire were due to his craving for his own social and personal stability," she continued, shrugging and twirling her pen between her thumb and index finger distractingly.

"Perhaps Mr Rochester was rather acting out of his desolate loneliness and longing for a companion that he found it in the most implausible people," Edward suggested in his intoxicating velvet voice, it was everything that wanted to make me retreat inside my resilient shell.

Every head turned towards Edward, their eyes scanning the room searchingly for the source of the silky tone that had recommended them against Justine's disapproval of Mr Rochester's childish actions. My heart was thudding inside of my rib-cage painfully in a catalytic reaction to the abrupt remembrance as what it had been like to listen to the conflicted melody that came from his parted pink lips daily – high, low, poignant and impassive or exultant and optimistic.

I found his eyes immediately and my stomach begun to churn in anticipation. "Loneliness is not an excuse for foolish behaviour," Justine argued back, exerting her presence in a confident manner, her back and shoulders poised and straight.

"Perhaps," Edward reasoned; his tone rational, "However you stated that the craving for a companion drove Mr Rochester into his elopement with Celine Varens, yet I believe you are misjudging his character. He may have been seeking companionship after he was forced into the marriage with Bertha Mason by his father, who expected nothing more than a lustful and profitable match; therefore this proves another point that he wasn't a weak character. He did his father's required bidding to gain his approval even if he was at first repulsed by the thought of it and stayed strong throughout Bertha's decent into madness."

His words chilled me to the bone, seeping through my skin with a sinking feeling I couldn't fathom. Justine was shocked by his in-depth knowledge and acquaintance with the text and a sheepish smile played across her lips embarrassingly. "So do you think Mr Rochester had repeated his fruitful search for companionship before Celine Varens?" I couldn't stop myself asking.

"I believe he did," Edward watched me through curious eyes and my knee's felt weak. "On the other hand, in my own opinion I think he had noticed that his pursuit of the ultimate happiness turned false during his journey and rather pursued lust rather than seeking love."

"Are you trying to implicit that Edward's earlier pilgrimage was what had made him bitter and partial to his protectiveness over Jane?" I felt my fists bundle at my sides, adrenaline live in my veins.

I now knew this conversation was no longer about Jane Eyre; but rather about wanting to rekindle the spark that had once flared out of control whenever he had been around, but that spark had long dissolved into a tongue of flame that fuelled my anger further as my rage and animosity towards Edward reawakened.

Just before I could shout back another sour retort, the bell struck and the students looked towards the door despite their interest in our lengthened debate. Gathering their bags and books quickly and as soundlessly as possible, they fled their seats and scuttled out the room. I retreated towards my desk, refusing to look back in case of alerting the remaining students to my strict anger and confusion.

I felt someone behind me; hot breath prickling the back of my neck. I spun on my heel. Justine stood watching me through wide hazel eyes, her pen slotted in her hair just above the beginning of her plait and fingers wound around the shoulder strap of her bag tightly. "What can I do for you, Justine?"

"I wanted to know if it would be possible to speak with you," she glanced around the room and caught people watching. "In private, Miss Swan?" she asked quietly, a small tremble to her words.

"Of course, Justine." Despite my annoyance at Edward, my judgment was not so clouded as to not see the concern in her eyes, her anxious worry written in the lines that creased her forehead. Her apprehension was out of character and I could see this unease and fear leading her into a false sense of security.

"We'll just wait until everyone leaves, then we can talk," I said in a small voice, watching her reactions carefully.

Her face had paled considerably, the last of the rosy blemish from her earlier blushing leached from her complexion. Justine was hugging her text books to her chest protectively, cradling them in her arms, as she bit her bottom lip. Her emotions were set deep into her facial expressions in the way her face was pinched with a nervous anxiety, it was easy to observe how profound her fears and desperation were.

When the lecture room was completely silent, except the ghostly hum of the air conditioning I leant against the corner of the desk, crossing my legs at the ankles to hide the small visible scar. "What is troubling you, Justine? Don't mind other people's opinions on Rochester, if that's what's bothering you, I agree with you if that makes you feel any better. Edward–" I choked on his name.

"Do you have an acquaintance with him, Miss Swan?" the inquisitive student raised her eyebrow.

"Bella – please, just call me Bella," I said, holding back the light exasperation by biting back my irritation.

"Edward knows you then Bella," she asked, her eyes widening as she took a deep breath. "And you know him?"

"Only partially, I met his father back in my hometown. He's a good man," I admitted, trying to hide my discomfort feebly by stretching out my arm to look at the time on the watch.

Justine looked around the room, her fingers shaking in small trembles as she scanned from left to right. She noticed my watching and hid her hands away in the pockets of her coat quickly, "He's strange. When he spoke for the first time it was as if my heart stopped beating. From what, I don't know."

"Justine, what's wrong? Do you not like Ed–him? Did he offend you?" I hesitated, my voice not even recognizing the words that poured from my mouth. The feeling of a heavy uncertainty crept over me, it was smothering.

I knew all too well what it was like to have my heart stop beating, to have my voice and breaths stolen every time I had looked into them liquid golden eyes that melted my bones and left me faint. To have my identity stolen as I was molded into a whole new person that would suit Edward, and only him. I hadn't been myself until the day he dumped me on the sidewalk.

Her laugh was loud and lacked any reservation or apprehension, it echoed through the tiled floor underneath my shoes tentatively.

"He did not offend me," she offered, appeasing my impatient inquisitiveness. "He simply startled me; I've never felt such a potent foreboding before. It was peculiar; it was as if his arrival signified a cataclysm of upheaval and devastation."

"Why ar–How do you know this?" I stammered, my rib cage tightening around my most vital organs like a protective barrier of bone and muscle.

"I just know, call it intuition," she shrugged and started to walk away, her footsteps heavy.

"Justine!" I shouted, standing up and extending my arm as if to grab her shoulder and draw her back.

She stopped and turned; rows of seats on both sides of her still figure, "I should go."

"You'll be late for your next class, I'm sorry, but is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" I pulled my arm back, my foot shuffling across the floor as my stomach fluttered.

"No," she disclosed. "But, it was a waste of your valuable time, so consider it an unnecessary flaw; however I do have something to tell you."

My throat clenched together, my vocal chords being tugged on perpetually like the strings of a harp, temporarily muting my subdued voice. My legs felt like half-melted candle wax as I stood on the spot, waiting for this student to relate a piece of expert knowledge to me, which she thought would assist me. But help me with what?

Justine had a guilty look on her face, as if she was about to commit an offense. She took a deep breath, "Forgive me for this," I went to protest but she held up a confident hand. "Don't trust anything Edward says. He's not the same person you once knew."

My student turned and strode away, she muttered something under her breath and then her presence vanished from the room and I was left alone. It felt like lightening was shooting through my veins. The piercing silence was ethereal and for a moment I even expected mist to creep across the floors like it did in the movies, like a sinuous vaporous creature. Nothing came. I was left in the soundless room alone, with a fist pressed to my mouth.

Edward had changed? And now I couldn't trust anything he told me? Why? Had his remorse finally triumphed over the false sense of innocence he had defined once as "unavoidable" and "essential" because of the complication I presented to his immortality and family? I sighed deeply, letting my surplus of turbulent emotions escape in a wavering current of annoyance, betrayal and a faint fickleness. Edward deserved and should grasp my fury at him, but the others. The Cullen's. They didn't earn my infuriation. Even if that, a tiny part of me missed them.

I missed Alice's cheery face and pixie appearance, Jasper's soothing presence, Emmett's strange sense of humor, Esme's motherly love, and even Rosalie's self-important ways. Last but not least, Carlisle and his calming and educated company. I missed our long discussions of classical literature and other interesting topics.

Shaking my head; I gathered my possessions and headed out of the lecture room, and away from unwanted memories.

#$!

As soon as I entered my small enclosed office, I shut the door a little more forcibly than I attended, sat down at my desk and expected Edward to reveal himself from the folding shadows at any moment. He didn't arrive. There wasn't even a speck of evidence to suggest he had been anywhere near my office; not the lingering sweet smell that lagged behind him and made me nauseous, not even the feeling of having his eyes boring into the back of my head.

It took an hour to even calm down; to stop my eyes from strolling around the room and imagining a dark figure standing in the column of shadows, to stop jumping at every ring of the phone or knock on the door, or to even calm the frantic beating of my heart when someone stopped outside my office, even for the briefest of moments.

I put my head in my hands and groaned, "This is ridiculous, your being silly, Bella. Get a grip."

Knock...knock. I snap my head up. "Get a grip on what?"

"Tessa, you scared me." I exhaled and ran my fingers through my hair. "I thought you would have shimmied home with your purchases by now. What are you still doing here?"

Tessa walked over to the corner of my desk and pulled herself up, scanning me up and down with her hawk eyes. "I thought we could go out tonight, and now after seeing that look on your face right now, I see that we should go out, not could."

"Sounds fun to me," I replied, already regretting it and burying my face in the book that was standing on the desk, trying to conceal my face. Now I was just waiting for her instant reaction. If I honestly knew Tessa as well as I think I did, she will scream in shock in three...two...one.

My tiny friend hopped down from the desk, walked around the front of it and planted her hands firmly on the wooden top. Bingo. "Isabella Maria Swan, drop that book this instant," she raised her voice an octave higher than usual, pounding the desk with a small bundled fist.

"Drop your tone, some of the other teachers are still here," I said in a small voice, pulling the book away to reveal my pinched face. At least a part of my suspicion was correct, just minus the screaming.

I looked from wall to wall, towards the door and the corridor, my eyes wide in embarrassment, searching wildly for someone who might have heard Tessa's demands. No jolting noises or footsteps came from the offices on either side of mine, Neville's was especially quiet – he normally has his ear pressed against the wall – and the corridor was desolate. The only thing signalling that people were still present in this wing of the university, were the flickering wall lamps, the light dim and casting pooling shadows across the red walls.

Tessa grabbed the first edition book that I had placed on the desk and began rummaging through the pages hurriedly, as if at any moment I might snatch it from her fingers. "What are you trying, and failing, to find hidden in that book?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm looking for your secret stash of love letters," she explained, placing the book back on the shelf at the front of the office and picking up another, looking for an edition which was hollowed out.

"Love letters?" I burst out in hysterical laughter. "Don't you mean secret e-mails," I joked, turning my laptop so she could see my blank inbox.

She put her hands on her hips; "Ha ha, very funny, Bella."

"I'm sorry; but your implications were just so silly I couldn't help myself. Why did you think I had secret love-letters in the first place?" I wiped under my eyes to make sure the tears Tessa's funny stunt had created vanished.

She pointed at my face, I flinched away involuntarily. "It has something to do with a guy, I can tell," she stated, her face suddenly dropping from its high cheery smile to a more sombre expression. "Oh hunny, do you need a hug?" Tessa came around the desk and gave me a big hug; my arms hung numb and limp at my sides.

I had to admit Tessa's bear-hug eased the tightness in my chest, made me forgot the dilemma of Edward Cullen. I brought my arms up and hugged her back, letting today's strangeness and sorrow drift away as warmth engulfed my core, spreading through my arms and legs until I felt like my old happy-self.

We pulled away, "Your bear-hugs never change: their still as crushing and I-can't-breathe as ever!"

Tessa scowled, "But you love them."

"I do," I answered tenderly, unlocking the bottom drawer in my desk and pulling out my bag. I opened it up and checked its contents – even when the drawer was closed and locked securely; our desks weren't the most secure things in the university. Come to mention it, the students lockers were better protected than our offices!

With its contents in check, and my office work slotted inside, I turned towards Tessa with a smile on my face. "Are we getting ready at yours or mine?"

"I believe mine's closer; and if we went to your apartment, I bet you would put on something just as drab as your office clothes," Tessa said, her face lit up with excitement.

I feigned a light snigger, but behind the thin layer of false laughter, I knew Tessa was right. I never had been one for dressing up and flaunting my feminine curves, as she put it. Even when I was small innocent child, I had never gained an interest in dressing up as a Disney princess or an airy fairy. The only outfit I had to wear, that was potentially close to imaginary dress-up, was my ballerina outfit when I had taken classes when I was a lot younger.

James had almost killed me in that same place; I shuddered before shrugging it off. Edward, of course being the fictional hero of my younger life, saved me. He and James had fought, however I couldn't remember that part – I was too busy being in apparent agony. The one thing I remember rather clearly was Carlisle instructing Edward on how to save me – gentle and compassionate Carlisle.

"Bella, are you ready leave?" Tessa was leaning against the door-frame, tilting her face in my direction.

"Of course," I stuttered, biting my lip. Gaining control over my strolling thoughts, I pulled my heavy bag over my shoulder and headed towards the door, clicked off the light, and walked outside.

At the end of the corridor, I looked back, my heart thumping as I heard Justine's words ringing in my ears. Edward has changed and was not safe. From the corner of my eye, I even thought I saw the image of him leaning against the pitch-black wall, his body shrouded and head bowed, and then he looked me – but not with the same amber eyes I knew, but with ruby imposters. My heart leapt into my throat; these weren't the type of red eyes that signalled a diet of human blood, but rather of cruelness and an alien maliciousness.

I shook my head violently, the wall-lamps had switched off and the offices were now engulfed in complete darkness. So we were the last ones here.

#$!

We had jumped on the bus to Tessa's apartment and were there quicker than I expected, I didn't even have enough time for my mind to once again ponder Edward's mysterious arrival in London. Edward didn't even have a connection with London, it's not like he lived nor had memories here. That was all Carlisle.

Unlocking the door and pulling me inside, Tessa had deposited her bags and was already rummaging around in her closest for an outfit for me. I managed to keep a straight face, dump my bag on the floor, and make myself a cup of tea – the still-foreign smell of tea-bags making me wrinkle my nose.

I could hear Tessa murmuring to herself about what she would want to wear from the kitchen, her voice exceptionally loud as it echoed through the empty passageway. "My new Prada heels, oh no they would be ruined with all the dancing, my Christian Louboutin's would be better. Hmm...My silk Versace dress would go lovely."

"We're only going to a club, it's not a massive ball-room event," I mumbled under my breath, pouring the scolding hot water into the cup and stirring it with a spoon.

Taking a sip of the tea, I retreated to the living room and sat down on the couch, letting my muscles relax against the soft cushions. Tessa scrambled from her room, her hands laden with bundles of clothes, I stifled my laughter. "You're not going to give them all away now, are you? Or have you turned a new leaf, Tessa? I never expected you to be the one who would give away, what is that, oh right, a Dolce and Gabbana dress."

"No silly," she stuck out her tongue dramatically. "These are for you to try on."

I stood up quickly, regretting afterwards when my leg muscles screamed in protest. "You're kidding me?"

"Do I really look like I am? You're going to look glamorous," she put a hand on my shoulder before dropping all the clothes into my hands. "Now shoo, go try them on."

"All of them?" I questioned aspirated, putting my cup of tea down on the low table.

Tessa waved me away and towards the bathroom, "Scoot, I have to get ready. Put something reasonable on otherwise you will face my wrath," then she disappeared into her bedroom, the door shutting tightly behind her.

Sighing heavily, I entered the bathroom and dropped the clothes onto the floor. My arms were aching, that pile must have weighed a ton. Shutting the door and pulling the lock, I bent down and rummaged through the pile – there was not a single pair of dress trousers here! It was all sparkly skirts, silk dresses and chest exposing tops, what was I meant to wear?

"Darn you fashion, what happened to just wearing a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a slogan on it?" I half screamed to myself.

I sat on the bathroom floor, my head rested upon my clenched fist. My stomach suddenly fluttered and my emotions went into hyper drive – I remembered Alice dressing me up countless times, her bathroom in the Cullen's house twice the size of my apartment, the shelves over-flowing with skin products. As quick as the memory came, it was lost to me, however it left behind a simmering determination to do Alice proud. "I will find something from this pile, even if it takes all night," I vowed out loud.

It took what felt like five endless hours until I had concocted a wearable outfit from Tessa's mountain-worth of clothing. I found a denim skirt which was lacking in all of the tacky sparkles, a top with spaghetti straps and a light over-layering which was delicately patterned, all that was left in my search was a pair of shoes – however, I knew Tessa would be dying to see what my hour's worth of searching had found.

Scrambling to get dressed as fast as possible, I unlocked the door and stepped out. "Tessa, are you ready?"

Tessa was in the living room, her back turned to me. "I'm in here," she replied, turning around and gaping at me at with an entirely different brand of shock. I blushed, my cheeks burning intently. While my best friend was trying not to stare at me, at the properly mismatched clothing hazard I wore, I saw that Tessa was indeed ready. She was wearing a flowing black MuiMui dress that stopped at the knees, a silk sash tied around the waist and her Christian Louboutin's, as she suggested to herself earlier.

"Are you done staring?" I giggled, tilting my chin to the left to look at the clock. We would have to go soon to make it to the club.

Tessa blinked and came back to reality; she had rocking on her heels while gaping. "I'm sorry, but you actually look gorgeous. What made you so confident tonight?"

"I, erm...had a little inspiration off an old friend of mine actually, she was pretty good at this sort of stuff," I smiled sheepishly, trying to conceal the pang of grief and sadness I left over never seeing Alice again.

"Wait right here," Tessa said, leaving the room in a flurry of black silk, leaving the room scented like that new-dress smell. Feeling somewhat self-conscious after her staring, I smoothed the outfit against my body and picked up my discarded cup of tea. I poured it down the sink since it had gone cold. "Here, put them on," Tessa thrust a pair of black boots into my chest, knocking the breath out of me.

I did as I was told, testing the size of the heel against the tiled flooring. At least I walk in them, "Thanks, Tessa. You ready to go?"

"One last thing, don't move," I closed my eyes reflexively and I heard Tessa's heels clicking on the floor behind me. She pulled the clips from my hair and it fell down my shoulders in soft, unkempt curls, then she coated my lips in peach lip-gloss. I could taste it when I bit my lip. "All done, you look stunning."

Opening my eyes, Tessa's face was right in front of mine. I stepped back and broke out into shrill laughter, she soon joined in. Afterwards, I pulled on my mask of confidence as we headed towards the door and out into the London Nightlife.

#$!

To say I was nervous was an understatement; I was on edge. After today's shock of seeing Edward after years, everything that happened around me reminded myself that he could be anywhere, waiting to ambush me from the shadows, to beg for forgiveness.

The Metropolitan nightclub was buzzing with activity; people were queuing nosily at the entrance, the screeching of the music from inside and even the flashing sign of the club was giving off an audible hum. I stood, grasping my arms around my body, trying to hide my convulsing shivers, "You couldn't have put a coat in that pile you gave me could you?" I stammered coldly.

"We'll be in momentarily," Tessa answered, fixing a scolding glare at me.

There was one thing that irritated me about Tessa, but it was never something I could accept without hindering my own opinion of her, so instead I hid my distaste for her actions from my sour expression. The queue moved forwards and two burly bouncers dressed in black tux's came into view.

"ID ladies, please?" one of them asked, thick pairs of black shades covering their eyes so there expressions were distant and hard to decode.

Tessa nudged me in the ribs softly; I pulled my purse from my bag and showed them my ID. Tessa did the same. Unlocking the velvet rope blocking the door, the bouncer guided us inside with his hand. "Have a good time ladies, don't get too drunk," the bouncer that had waved us inside lowered his shades and winked at Tessa, who giggled femininely.

"He was nice," she said, interrupting my eerie silence. When I didn't answer she looked at me for a moment, I tried to put on a convincing smile. "Did you really want to come out tonight?"

I shrugged, "I do, I just think I need a drink first," I assured her, patting her shoulder. "Go have some fun; I'll be at the bar."

"Are you sure?" Tessa inquired, nudging me towards the bar and following. "I can sit with you for a while, if you want some company."

Even though I knew she was sincere in her words, her face was lined in a deep confliction; she wanted to dance but to keep me happy also. "Go," I coaxed. "I'll be fine."

Tessa hugged me quickly, her face alight with anticipation and amusement. "Thanks Bella," she squeaked. "And look there's even someone at the bar already, maybe he'll keep you company," she finished before rushing off towards the dance floor and the crowd of people – they were more-like swaying their hips effortlessly and lunching down as if they had dropped a contact, rather than dancing.

Threading my way through the occupied drink tables, I heaved myself up onto a chair at the bar. There was one other person at the bar, like Tessa had said; but he looked with a blank expression towards the entrance, as if waiting for someone so I didn't bother interrupting his patient wait. "I'll have a white wine, please," I told the waiter and thrusting the cash towards him.

An half an hour later, I was sipping at my second drink carefully as I watched the bustling crowd on the dance floor. My heart ached to be up there, but my confidence had dwindled since arriving and I no longer felt like I wanted to be here. Tessa at first had came and sat with me for a while, but the cheering crowd on the floor had lulled her back, she was now dancing with a boy who was younger than her, twisting her body around him in seductive ways. I averted my eyes elsewhere.

The DJ was on a levelled platform higher than the stage, his hands busied as he mixed different records at the same time. If I didn't know better, I would have thought his equipment was smoking. He was wearing a white top and underneath the strobe light it occasionally shone with an incandescent glow, a rainbow coloured hat was placed on his head, dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders.

Twisting the black ring on my fore-finger I had found on the train floor earlier that morning, I watched as the coloured lighting shattered off in different patterns from the design. I was enthralled; but then the roaring of the music brought my attention back.

The man that had once been sitting next to me had even vanished, I sighed heavily. "Am I that much of a bore," I said out loud, putting my empty glass on the bar-top.

"Actually I think you are very exciting to watch these days," a cold hand lay on my wrist. My heart stopped beating and I almost choked trying to swallow the last of the white wine. I knew that dreaded voice anywhere. I had been waiting for it all day.

"Edward," I breathed, not looking at him. I couldn't. It would rip open old scars and I didn't want to experience that again. But shouldn't I be-able to look him in the eyes, I hate him, not miss him?

"Bella," he echoed my words, his fingers pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

I pushed his lingering fingers away; finally grasping at my internal dispute and looking up at his angelic face, the face that had been burnt behind my eyelids, and the face that had me dreaming of the same nightmare each night. "What are you doing here, Edward? You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me again," I said acidly. I just hoped Tessa wasn't watching this.

"I came to see you, I knew I shouldn't have, but the thought of you here in London by yourself was driving me crazy. I had to see to it that you were alright," he chimed, his amber eyes drilling into mine. For a second, there was a faint prickle at the nape of my neck as I imagined the ruby imposters in the rightful place of the amber gemstones.

"Are you satisfied enough, I'm fine? Goodbye Edward," I asserted, turning my head away.

Edward's long fingers caught my chin and pulled my face back to his, "Would you like to dance, Bella?" he crooned. Before I got a chance to protest he was dragging me off the chair and onto the dance floor.

I tried to pull away directly, but he laced his arms around my waist and locked me within his iron-grip. I fell rigid within his grasp, my arms hung limp down my sides as I grappled with my anger. Who did he think he was just showing up like this? And thinking he can just drag me to dance, and I'll accept?

We were now swaying in time with the music, my footing clumsy so Edward held onto me tighter. I begrudgingly let him, grinding my teeth together. "Relax Bella, I'm not here to win you back," he observed.

"Here to beg for my forgiveness," I guessed, as he twirled me around and then held me once again in his arms.

"That," Edward chuckled darkly, "And to make sure you were safe." Anger pooled in my stomach, I knew that is all he came for. Of course he hadn't come to his senses and figured this was his entire fault. It was stupid of me to think he would acknowledge his mistake. My confidence and belief that he would relent against his mistakes was a falsehood. I went to pull myself away so I could just leave and go home, but Edward grabbed my wrist and drew me back, tight against his chest.

"Ouch, Edward," I cried. "Let go, you're hurting me," I protested, clawing at his hand to let me go.

Edward released instantly and I pulled my wrist back, running from the dance floor and into a small isolated hollow of the club. Rubbing over it with my fingers gently, I examined the damage. The skin was red where his fingers had grasped me, like an elastic band had been tightened around my skin and had restricted the flow of blood. Edward had never hurt me before? He never had been this strong before, and he had always been able to control his strength around me? My confusion temporarily out-ruled the stinging sensation in my wrist.

I heard Edward's light footsteps in front of me. Looking up I saw him walking towards me, his face set in concrete lines of sadness and sympathy. "Bella I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, please be–"

I grasped my fist, pushing past the pain in my hand, and smashed it against his face. Even if he couldn't feel it very much, he deserved it. And hopefully it would get the message the across.

"Don't you dare come up here and say you're sorry, Edward," I bellowed, but it was drowned out by the loud music, Edward on the other hand would hear it. "Nothing you ever say will make me forgive you now, just leave!"

Edward was cupping his cheek in his hand were I had punched him, as if he felt the false pain throbbing in his face. "Bella I–"

"Please, Edward," I begged, tears starting to spring from my eyes – and it wasn't just because of the pain, the idea of the replay of when he had left happening again had been torturing me, and here we were, staging the scene once again to my inherent dislike. "Just go, please."

His face fell; but I could see the hint of determination in the corner of his eyes. Picking up my hand, he turned it over and kissed the palm of it softly, "I will leave, but be safe Bella, for my sake." Then Edward left. Stumbling back towards bar a few seconds later, my head spinning and feeling sickly, I fell into the seat and buried my head in my heads.

I don't know how long I was like that, but a little time afterward I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head, dry tears staining my cheeks. "I said leave me along Ed–" however, instead of Edward's face, it was replaced by another.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, miss. You looked ill and I was just checking, if you want me to go, I will," he mentioned.

"Wait," I whimpered. "Please stay; I'm just having a bad night." The man sat on the chair opposite mine – he seemed like fairly descent company. His skin was tanned and through my tear-blurred vision I could make out a pair of broad shoulders under a tight-fitting T-shirt, he had cropped blonde hair and the deepest shade of blue eyes I had ever seen. I wiped the tear stains from my face, "I'm sorry, I'm crying in front of company. How silly of me," I tried to laugh it off, but to no avail. It came out like a strangled cry for help and a shoulder to continue crying on.

He smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. "Do you a want a drink?" he offered.

I turned to see where Tessa had went off to, but her presence had left the dance floor. _She's_ either in the supply cupboard with that young boy or visiting the bouncer at the doors again, I thought. "A drink would be lovely, thanks," I replied, stiffly, pulling myself together.

"One red wine and–" he looked in my direction for my answer, "And a glass of water for the lady."

With his drink in hand, and my glass on water on the bar top, I gave a heavy sigh of relief. "You look like you've had a hard night?" he asked, sipping at his red wine and licking his lips.

"No kidding, by the way I didn't get your name?" I turned in the chair to face him. "My name's Bella."

He took my held out hand and shook it, "Duncan."

His fingertips had felt soft against my hand, and the skin tingled were our skin had came into contact. "It's nice to meet you, Duncan, and thanks for saving me earlier on. I was a bit of a mess."

Duncan shrugged, "No problem, it's my duty to help a lady in distress."

"You must be my Prince Charming then?" I laughed. Was I actually flirting? After what just happened with Edward and I'm already attempting to flirt with another guy? I've had far too many drinks already. I blushed a deep red.

"I must have misread my script, my lady, because I assumed I was looking for a glass slipper. Your wearing, erm..." he paused, looking down at the pair of black boots I was wearing. Glancing back up into my face, I felt my stomach flutter as his hand reached over towards mine. "Personally, I think I would prefer a boot much more than a glass slipper. It's less fragile," he added with a polite grin.

Realisation hit me after a long drink of water, the alcohol in my blood had tainted my judgement and my misguided faith was steering me in the wrong direction. Edward was my first mistake; I wasn't going to make another with Duncan.

"You sound like you could be a great actor," I said steadily. "I always loved the theatre; it's been something I've been meaning to do lately. Go and see a play."

Duncan placed his nearly-empty drink on the counter and hunted in his pocket for something, he draw drew out his mobile and a pen. He reached for cardboard drink coaster and turned it over, "If you want tickets to the next play, it's Shakespeare's "The Tempest", call my number. I can get you them." Finishing writing he pushed the coaster towards me; I picked it up and examined the numbers.

"Thank you, Duncan. That would be great, but how would you get them?" I questioned, twirling the coaster between my fingers.

"I will be playing the one of the main characters, Ferdinand," he raised his voice as well as his arms in the air dramatically. "Do you know the play?"

Turning my head I saw Tessa walking down the stairs from the entrance, so she was with the bouncer after all. Tessa had a wide smile on her face as she made her way towards the bar. "I do know the play; I studied it in High School. Plus, I'm an English Literature teacher at the London University. So I know," I said.

Tessa joined us then, she eyed me with an intense curiosity, and then looked Duncan up and down with an inquisitive eye. "Bella, are you alright?" she questioned, patting my knee with her hand.

"Fine Tessa, this is Duncan," I gestured to him as he pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. "Duncan this is my colleague and friend, Tessa."

His attention returned, "It's very nice to meet you, Tessa. I regret to inform you though, ladies that I must dash. Unfortunately I need an early night for rehearsal tomorrow. Bella, if you want them tickets don't hesitate to call the number," he kissed my palm, replacing the hollow feeling Edward left with a tingling sensation that ran up my spine. Then he had gone, leaving me and Tessa alone at the bar.

Tessa was grinning wildly, her eyes sparkling. She took a long drink of my glass of water and then placed the empty glass back onto the bar top, "So what have we learnt tonight?"

"I have learnt coming out into clubs broadens your social horizons," I lied. It also shows that my faith in Edward, hoping he would see the error in his wistful ways, was misguided and I have been deceived by my own judgement.

It was from that moment on, that I knew his amber eyes had been replaced by the federal ruby imposters I now imagined. And I now understood why Justine said he was different, and unsafe. Edward was unstable, and changed, and for that, he frightened me. The proof of his strength tonight only assured me that the change wasn't for the better, but for the worse.

_Chapter Preview:_

_...Critical News Announcement by Shelly Barker, the television called and I turned my lagging-attention span back to the screen, I used the remote to turn it up slightly louder. A short plump woman with a receding hairline and olive shaped eyes appeared, with a bundle of paper in her hands which she straightened out by banging on the table, a little. Her expression was serious. A train has been found stopped dead in its tracks this morning, according to our sources it was on route towards Warren Street stop – I realised then this was the train that carried me to work each morning and back at night – when investigators stepped inside the train to search for people, it was revealed that everyone was dead. Inspectors have now removed the bodies of twenty-seven people, and are working towards what was the cause of their deaths._

_Shelly Barker left the television screen and was replaced by a live feed recording of the train station; and there was the train sitting idle and useless as if its power-cord had been ripped out. Being brought through the clamped open train door was yet another body bag, it was small and my heart lurched, blood restricted in my veins, as I realised it was the body of a child. _

"_Oh my," I murmured, caught between crying and choking back sobs, as I put my hand over my mouth and unfolding my crossed legs._

_Like the train that sat still in the station, the magnolia coloured envelope from my office yesterday lay on the coffee table redundant and at leisure. I grabbed a hold of it to distract my attention from the pictures on the television, ripped it open and pulled out the single sheet of heavy white paper._

_My body suddenly ran cold, the sheet of paper slipping from my clammy grasp and onto the floor, tears now running down my cheeks and burning my eyes. Each of the pounding pulses of my heart sounded in my ears loudly, deafening me from anything but its vibrating ring, my legs weak with terror._

_My fear and the hollowing panic in my body was all due to them five liquid red letters written on the page in an elegant script._

_Everywhere you go, death follows._


	3. I Have Seen The Night

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, except: Duncan, Justine, Christine and Tessa.**

**Thanks to Angie for your amazing beta skills in reviewing every chapter I've given to you. You've always do a great job! – Also, thank you so much for your help in the coming Harry Potter one-shot for the Fandom for Floods compilation.**

**Chapter 3: I Have Seen the Night**

I rolled over in my bed, my body twisted in the sheets, my stomach churching painfully; turning onto my side I retched up air sickly. Now I wish that last night hadn't involved alcohol, it wasn't going help with today's busy schedule, or the fact that my head was thumping.

"If I feel this bad, and I hardly had anything compared to Tessa, how is she going to feel?" I moaned, trying to shut my eyes again. I prayed for further sleep, but no dreams came, just the images of Edward – seeing him for the first time in the lecture room on campus to meeting him again at the club, to finally realising he wasn't the person I had once known.

Massaging my temples as I climbed out of bed, closing the curtains sharply so the sting of the headache wore off a bit, I took a few steps and felt something stuck to my bare foot. Leaning against the table, I pulled my leg up and removed the cardboard coaster from the nightclub, a row of scrawled digits in the corner with a smiley face.

For a slow moment, Duncan's face overlaid Edward's in my thoughts, and I gave a small smile of gratification before he vanished, the over present tuft of bronze hair and red eyes once again haunting me like a poltergeist.

Turning on the television, the channel blared into life, and I pressed my fists against my ears in shooting pain as I groped for the remote. Pressing the button sharply, the voices of the news's speakers were almost muted. Sitting down on the couch, letting my back sink into the worn material and my arms rest loosely by my sides, I exhaled a deep breath and watched contently as the sun rose and light spilled through the half-closed curtains.

Critical News Announcement by Shelly Barker, the television called and I turned my lagging-attention span back to the screen, I used the remote to turn it up slightly louder. A short plump woman with a receding hairline and olive shaped eyes appeared, with a bundle of paper in her hands which she straightened out by banging on the table, a little. Her expression was serious. A train has been found stopped dead in its tracks this morning, according to our sources it was on route towards Warren Street stop – I realised then this was the train that carried me to work each morning and back at night – when investigators stepped inside the train to search for people, it was revealed that everyone was dead. Inspectors have now removed the bodies of twenty-seven people and are working towards what was the cause of their deaths.

Shelly Barker left the television screen and was replaced by a live feed recording of the train station, and there was the train sitting idle and useless as if its power-cord had been ripped out. Being brought through the clamped open train doors was yet another body bag, it was small and my heart lurched, blood restricted in my veins, as I realised it was the body of a child.

"Oh my," I murmured, caught between crying and choking back sobs, as I put my hand over my mouth and unfolded my crossed legs.

Like the train that sat still in the station, the manila envelope from my office yesterday lay on the coffee table redundant and at leisure. I grabbed a hold of it to distract my attention from the pictures on the television, ripped it open and pulled out the single sheet of heavy white paper.

My body suddenly ran cold, the sheet of paper slipping from my clammy grasp and onto the floor, tears now running down my cheeks and burning my eyes. Each pounding pulse of my heart sounded in my ears loudly, deafening me from anything but its vibrating ring, my legs weak with terror.

My fear and the hollowing panic in my body were all due to the five liquid red words written on the page in an elegant script.

Everywhere you go, death follows.

Who was the monster that would torment me so much? The first name that came into my head sent panic flooding through me like a thick vicious liquid. For a moment, I thought I even felt my heart stop beating as I tried to swallow down the idea. Edward would do nothing of a sort, especially in such a close proximity to me – then again, he did show innumerable strength last night.

I ran my fingers through my hair; I pulled back when they got caught in the morning tangle. "I'm over-reacting, right?" I prompted to myself. "This could be a joke, or a just a clear coincidence."

All of a sudden, while my heart was pounding against my chest feverishly, my phone rang from a distance; and I screamed. It was such a spontaneous consequence of the unexpected phone call that, for a second, had made me shriek. I was freaked out from the message – and I knew it.

Pulling on a calm face, even though the caller would not see it through a mobile conversation, I unravelled my legs. Standing up, I clambered towards the bedroom for my phone, which was still on charge. It was Tessa calling – right on queue.

"You're ill, aren't you?" I insisted when I answered the call, twisting around to watch the front door of my apartment. The wire was coiling around my waist while I was oblivious.

Deep throaty coughing could be heard. "The dancing made me sick; moving around like that and alcohol aren't the best combination. Will you get Neville to cover my lessons?"

"You want me to talk to Neville?" I rolled my eyes – he wouldn't be too pleased with this revelation. I am still stumped as to why he became an English teacher, if the subject agitated him so badly. "Are you deadly serious about that? Are you sure you want your friend to suffer so badly," I drawled. Neville was not the friendliest teacher in the whole English department, he was actually the one everyone tried to avoid – turning a corner when they saw him, steering your eyes away from him when he walks past or passing up an opportunity to speak to him.

"Get April to phone in Christine then, Bella. But I definitely can't come in," from somewhere over the line there was the shuffling of bed sheets and a small mumbled groan from Tessa.

I knew instantly what was going on without a second thought– typical Tessa, always bringing her work home with her; I giggled. Deciding to play along, I put on my fake understanding tone. "I'll do that for you, but you have to promise me something?"

"Spill it. What do you want? – Do you know you only use me because I have the key to the information database and the document room," she teased. "Not for my personality."

"Liar," I accused. "I love your personality; otherwise, my British-friend, I wouldn't have talked to you on the first day I got to London. Now here are my requests: don't get the train from now on, we'll find another way to get to work. Promise?"

Tessa was fleetingly silent, her breaths ragged and uneven. Then I heard the slap-away hand movement, more shuffling and her in a quiet voice whispering 'Sssh, she'll hear us'. Unknown to her, growing up around "Vampires" in high school had taught me to open up to my senses, therefore developing my hearing just a tad further than most. "That's a rather conflicting suggestion you pose, but I will agree. Anything else?"

Turning again to face the wall, the wire tightening around my waist, my expression became bitter. "I need you to get me the file on a specific student."

Tessa was quiet, but I knew she would be objecting to it and questioning why, if it wasn't was for her distraction. "Her name is Justine Harding."

"Justine Harding," she recited, hopefully because she was writing it down. "I'll not ask questions, but is that all?"

I smiled – perhaps I should let her get back to work. "That is all," I said.

"Right," there was a low squeak over the line, before Tessa composed herself to speak again. Without the squealing. "I'll be getting back to bed."

I laughed lightly. "And Tessa, before you go, tell your bed-mate I said hi."

There was a shocked gasp over the phone, followed by a mumbled "hello" in a gruff tone. It sounded almost like the bouncer we had seen last night. "How did y–"

"Goodbye Tessa."

Switching off the conversation, I flipped the phone over in my palm a few times. As I went to put it back on my bed-side cabinet, I noticed the wire wrapped around my waist. Detangling myself from the encircling cable, feeling a tightness lift from around my waist, I lifted up the strappy top I'd worn all night. I saw a thin translucent line printed into the skin like a temporary tattoo, where the cable had been pressed into my skin – like sleeping marks when you lie on your arm in the same position over numerous hours during sleep. Similarly fixed to my bare skin was the light band of flushed skin on my wrist where Edward had grabbed me. And hurt me.

As I considered the parallel connection between the occurrences, the sun rushed into the room through the window, latching shadows following in its trail. It was one thing for the sun to make my stomach curdle – recollecting the sparkling quality Edward possessed in the presence of the filtered light – but for the shadows to frighten me was alarming. I imagined the shadows, like twisting silhouettes of the nightmarish creatures I had encountered back in my younger years, following me. Fastened onto my existence and never leaving – always trailing behind, but drawing itself closer to me, each and every day.

Watching the dark figures beneath the window sill become weak dilutions as the sun disappeared from my window, I knew they would linger with me; just as deceitful and malevolent as always. They would never depart. I would always be tracked by the very same creatures I wanted to evade.

**#$!**

Once I had entered the university building for my day's work shift, there was an evident release of my chaotic emotions. Since my apartment had become saturated in the shadows of my past and was now a worrying sight to me, I had rushed out early. Although bus service isn't always reliable either, I had stood outside for a good ten minutes, but at least I got to work, intact and on time for once.

The lessons I had taught had even calmed me sufficiently. I now felt relaxed and at ease – minus the throat-clenching thoughts of death threats and Edward's arrival in London, with his new found strength and the trepidation that I now felt around him. He wasn't even present in today's lesson. Hopefully he got my message of "leave me alone".

The bell struck, signaling the end of an exhausting and eventful day. "That's all for today's lesson. Now I expect you all to have your essay's ready for tomorrow."

Bags were packed, books held tightly against their chests, flicking hair away from their face; and then they fled the classroom faster than an arrow from a bow. All except one: Justine. She stood with her legs crossed, eyes running around the room wittingly. She knew I was going to pull her away to ask questions, and I was going to.

"Justine," I asked, catching her attention. She looked at me with her blue eyes – something lurking behind them that nagged at me. "Would you come with me to my office?"

Grabbing her bag, Justine walked towards me. "I'll follow."

With the room empty besides us, I gave one quick glance behind me tentatively to ease the curling knots in my chest and walked towards my office. The corridors were surprisingly quiet, the walls feeling like they were closing in around me. Coming towards the row of offices kept for the English department, Christine stepped out from Neville's office. She waved at me, "Bella," she exclaimed.

"Justine," I turned around to her. "Can you go wait in my office? I'll be there in a moment," I beckoned, pointing her in the direction. She left us, her spill of brunette hair the last thing I saw.

Christine was a tall woman, taller than anybody I knew – I don't even think Emmett's muscles could compare against Christine's fierceness. She had grey monotonous eyes and long hair that was pinned to the back of her head, the only thing that was strange was that her hair was white, like wisps of smokes drifting down from her arched hairline.

Turning my attention to Christine, "I'm sorry we had to call you in this morning. Tessa was occupied," I tried to smother my obvious grin.

She knew what Tessa was like though, so it was easier to be around Christine. "I thought she might be; I got a phone call from her this morning as well. Although, I believe it was rather unintentional – I got one ear-full of noise," she chuckled.

To think that Tessa had dialled Christine's number, and she's picked up, while rolling around in bed with the club bouncer made me want to blush – even though, it hadn't happened to or involved myself.

"I think I should let you tell her that, I'm just glad she didn't dial someone else's. Imagine if Neville received that call." We burst out laughing, the whole corridor echoing with our loud chuckling. Soon enough, it became painful to laugh; I clutched my chest trying to catch some breath.

"To be honest, I think he'd listen in a little longer. He's the type of guy that needs to get laid a lot more often, so grumpy," Christine replied. She wiped a tear of joy from under her eye.

I exhaled a deep breath. "I agree, as usual. You have such prudent wisdom, that I can't help but agree."

Christine leaned against the wall; she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder when it started to slip down her arm. "What were you doing in Neville's office? I'm curious."

"He wanted to know why Tessa was off – suspicious man didn't want to ask you because he knew you would cover for her – and asked how the class went. Don't know why. He hates it here," she replied. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a packet of cigarettes and pulled one out. Smoking was not something I'd ever liked, and never will, but with Christine, I had grown used to the thick smell of cigarettes around her. I mainly put up with it because she was my friend.

I raised my eyebrow, a hand on my hip. "What did you say? Just so I can keep up with the story."

She took a drag on her cigarette, smoke filling the small space around us. "Caught a fever and is in bad shape from one of the colleagues – Monica has the same, I thought it a smart idea."

"I highly doubt her bed-mate is going to think her having a fever is attractive," I sniggered, waving the smoke away from me. Christine apologized and stepped away from me.

"Do you have any idea who it is this time?" she asked.

I gave her the thumbs up. "It's the bouncer from the club we visited last night."

"She got the bouncer, did you get an–"

Just as Christine started to question me into last night's event, which I wasn't ready to re-count, although meeting Duncan had brought a smile to my face, I remembered Justine sitting in my office. She would be getting impatient. "Christine, do you mind if we talk later? It's just I have a student in my office that I need to talk to."

"Oh sure, go ahead," she ushered me off.

After waving goodbye, and Christine making a "call you later" gesture with her hand, I walked towards my office and stepped inside. Justine was sitting in the office chair, spinning around absent-mindedly, her mind lingering elsewhere. I didn't know where.

I knocked on the wall, signalling I was back. Putting her feet on the floor, she stopped herself from spinning – I didn't know how she wasn't dizzy with sickness – and stared at me with a hard glare. "I want to ask you something."

"I assumed you did, yesterday must have left you with some questions." Justine stood up and walked over towards me, leaning against the wall. She was at the closest, yet furthest, distance she could get from me.

"How did you know Edward had changed?" I demanded, wringing my hands together.

She give a heavy sigh, "He came to see you, I suppose?"

"Ye–" I hesitated, catching the word before it escaped. But she knew already. "Please, I need to know," I felt like I was begging something from a student, which I was, but this felt more personal.

Justine flicked her hair behind her ear, wiping away a smudge of makeup from underneath her eye, as if she had been crying before I entered. "You know he had changed, which he has. And you know yourself why, you just can't admit it to yourself. There is one thing I can say is: Red-eyes."

My legs felt like half-melted wax as I stumbled towards my desk, my hand on my head as I tried to understand what Justine just said. I had found that out last night, so why was she repeating it to me after I was already aware of that knowledge. Was it a clue that would allude to something further? "I know that," I stammered, my hands shaking.

"That is all I can say; besides that terrible things are going to happen, and old memories will arise and from these: new and bad situations," she summarised, looking at her nails leisurely.

My hands bundled into fists at my sides, "Is this a game to you? You must know more about this? You said you have a feeling, or something, from Edward? Give me something to work with, Justine," I said through clenched teeth, biting back my anger.

"You know what I know?" Justine suddenly shouted, standing up, her back straight. Tears were collecting in her eyes. She swallowed down a lump in her throat, "I'm going to die, Bella," she sobbed in the thinnest whisper.

My fists released, my whole body becoming limp with longing to help Justine. I stepped towards her gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder to console her. "Justine," I murmured calmly. "What makes you say that? Are you unhappy?"

"No," she cried. "I'm fine, but it will happen. Like what will happen between you and Edward."

"Nothing is going to happen between me and Edward, I don't like him like that," I protested.

The idea of being with Edward again made my heart ache as memories hit me, the longing to have his body once again pressed against mine, his lips against mine in a passionate kiss that stole my breath away. But that would never happen – I wouldn't allow myself to do it. I hated, even was alarmed, by his presence nowadays.

"Not like that – events will unfold that you never dreamt off. It will bring you heart-ache and happiness."

That was such a juxtaposition of emotions: polar opposites, yet from the same subject that, at this moment, I despised. "Well, that's comforting to know."

"The train accident was only the start," she breathed, her slouched body twitching in my grasp, as if she was alerted to something coming our way.

I bit down hard on my tongue, to bury the horror that rose in my throat. "How do you know about that?"

"It wasn't any accident, Bella. It was all staged –it was all a plot to get to–" she stopped suddenly, her body rigid. Justine wiped the tears that were strolling down her cheeks, her manner completely altered.

I felt like shaking the answer from her, but this was a delicate topic. My curiosity was sparking out of control, and my skin was alight with electricity. "Justine, what? What were you going to say?" I demanded.

Then I felt it: the prickle at the nape of my neck, my throat closing up and my heart starting to beat in an uneven pulse. I turned my face from Justine and saw him standing in the doorway – watching us with his eyes, drinking us in. "Bella," he answered curtly.

"Edward," I breathed. "I told you to never come back. Don't you listen?" The acidic sharpness returning back to my voice as my irritation multiplied and became fury.

"I came to say goodbye," he mouthed, looking at Justine intensely.

His glare was threatening, and Justine responded. "I'm going to go," before I could object to her leaving, questions still on the tip of tongue and insist Edward left, she was gone in a flash. In my own opinion, she was frightened.

I could taste the destruction radiating from Edward – it was only a matter of time. I turned away from him, facing the desk. I hid from his probing eyes, "Why did you come back?"

Edward remained at the doorway. "I'm leaving, like you asked," he answered.

"You won't leave," I disclosed. "I know you won't. My class, you will. But not London."

"Bella, I'm sorry about last night. I couldn't control my strength, it was an accident," he retorted, his expression sour.

I flew around to face him on my heels, my finger pointing at him. "Then learn to control it, Edward," I shouted. "You hurt me, and for that you will remain unforgiven. You never have before, so what was different yesterday?"

He looked genuinely stunned by my reply, "There is a difference, since leaving you and–" he stopped dead in his words. He was unable to tell me.

"I knew you wouldn't tell me," I mumbled, crossing my arms around my chest and turning away from him once again. Why couldn't he just leave? I had enough to deal with. "Just go. And this time, I don't want to see you again."

I felt wind whip around my body, then Edward's finger trailing a line along my neck. Terror froze in my veins, until it was removed. The icy chill of his finger against the flush of my skin made my cringe away. He bent towards my ear and whispered low, and succinct. "If I told you, Bella, I wouldn't be able to bear the consequences of my actions." Then he was gone.

Shadows engulfed the room as I sank into the office chair; my mind was in chaotic disorder, and my body limp. He couldn't bear the consequences? Would that include losing me? So, what had he done? The last question I asked myself reminded me of the image I once had of Edward, the image of him before he had met me – when he was bloodthirsty, young and strong. When he was on a diet of human blood.

Who had he killed?

**#$!**

Once I had gotten into my apartment, I had collapsed onto my couch. It wasn't long afterward that I heard the tapping knock that was familiar to Tessa's presence. Quickly shoving my five worded note under the sofa, I ran to the door and opened it.

Tessa was standing in a worn pair of tracksuit pants, spaghetti-strapped top and her hair pulled back in a messy bun quickly – she was dressed like she'd just been to gym. She held out two cups of Starbucks Coffee towards me, the smell was familiar and enticing. "Coffee service on your door-step, do you want it?"

"Come on in," I gestured. She stepped inside and took my place on the couch. I joined her after shutting the door and securely locking it. I wasn't taking any chances with my past coming back to haunt me while my friend was here. "All finished in the bedroom?" I asked, pulling my feet up and raising an eyebrow at her.

"All done; besides we have work to do." She sipped at her coffee, before placing it on the small table and pulling some papers onto her lap.

I put on a confused expression, "Do we? I can't remember?"

Tessa passed the papers towards me, pulling a large white binder onto her lap as a replacement for the lost sheets. Opening it up, she flicked through the pages contentedly. I glanced at the paper resting on my legs, and then I remembered. I threw a hand to my head, "Snap! The presentation at the end of the week. I completely forgot about it."

"Go figures, you'd think I would forgot about it with all my occupied-schedule this morning, but I didn't. You must have had a lot on your mind to forget about it," Tessa mused.

"Too right," I mumbled, drinking my coffee. "I've just had a lot on my plate since yesterday."

Tessa handed me another massive binder, except this time it was black rather than white. Was this one tainted, while the other was pure? Shoving the polluted thought back, I opened the file, ready to face whatever was coming for me next – even if that was a presentation, when I hated standing in front of people and talking. "Get started then, friend. Anyways, I heard they're bringing in an international observer from the teaching department over in the US. They say he's a real Greek Adonis."

Now where had I heard that from?


	4. Kidnapped

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation.**

**Thanks to everyone for your inspirational reviews and comments over Twitter, it's really a driving force to continue this fan fiction.**

**Chapter Four: Kidnapped **

The journey into the nucleus of London left me feeling a little weary and light-headed. The jump of the bus on the uneven roads and the pounding rain hadn't helped either. Climbing off onto unsteady feet, I clambered onto the pavement, while shielding my eyes from the rain. It wasn't so typical that the crowds of people were walking in the direction I was standing; a jumble of shoving arms, angry faces and heavy shopping bags jabbing me painfully in the legs. I gave a deliberate sigh and shuffled towards a shop with an elaborate window design.

Covering my eyes with my arm to see, I saw a line of mannequin's dressed richly in ornate fabrics and the brightest of jewels. Tugging my laptop bag over my shoulder, something drew me inside.

"Can I help you?" The customer assistant asked, somewhat mortified with my appearance as the door shut behind me. Her stern expression said it all.

I looked towards the window display, a triumphant smile tugging on my lips. "Yes," I replied. "I'd like to try on that dress in the window."

"I'm sorry, but that dress is for display only." Her voice was bitter, the sharp angles of her cheekbones like daggers through her skin.

Amongst the racks of puffy dresses, corsets and petticoats, there was another woman pointing towards a dress at the window with exclamations of happiness. Her purse was shortly drawn from her bag, followed by a credit card. She caught my gaze and smiled – it was warm and welcoming, yet something seemed familiar.

Looking back at the customer assistant, it phased me how people could be so sour and crude in their trivial business manners, yet it was always so produced by either the giver having received it themselves or just plain stubbornness of rank: but the latter is proved to be the most common situation.

Walking over to another rack, I fingered the layers on a spotted black dress. The fine under layers seemed so fragile, like they could rib underneath the force of my fingers.

"I believe it is statutory right of mine to want to try on your product, otherwise why display it."

The woman cocked her head to the side in an avian way before storming off towards the display. I could hear her muttering slight curses over myself, yet it did not bother me.

Five minutes later I was in the dressing room, observing myself as I twirled around twice, watching the tiers of the dress float around my legs. Even with my soaked appearance, I was mesmerized by the way it fit around my slight curves and supported myself. For a moment, I even imagined as if looking over one's shoulder and watching someone draw a replica of this dress, a woman sitting with her hands curved against her lap and shoulders straight. Like a representation of a stronger woman who could afford this beautiful dress.

"So much for credit cards, I'm going to need a mortgage." I let the tag of the dress fall back against my thigh, like an impending weight against me.

Soon enough I was once again dressed the fine layers of black silk and gossamer ribbons once again on the mannequin and I was out in the rain.

Walking down the street a little way, I came towards a small coffee shop, the majority of the letters missing from its rusted sign.

It looked quaint and comfortable. Rubbing my hand against its window, sheets of rainwater like an obscuring cloud of mist running down the pane, I looked inside: there were rows of small tables with checkered covers, a few customers with occupied eyes and a waitress etching ink into the palm of her hand with an idle pen.

Opening the door, the small bell pitched a rusty squeal as if not opened in months and the waitress raised her eyes to me. She looked surprised at seeing such a sight as me: a woman carrying a laptop case, soaked files under her arm, hair plastered to her face and a ghostly complexion. I sat down instantly, not planning on catching any further attention.

The waitress sauntered over, as if she were gliding on wheels. A pink bubble popped and then she returned to loudly chewing her gum. "What can I you?"

"Coffee, please," I asked, placing the laminated menu back onto the table.

"Are you sure?" The waitress put a hand on her hip.

I shoved a lank strip of wet hair behind my ear. "I'm sure."

Taking the menu from the table, she sauntered back behind the small glass counter and started making my coffee. It was in small shops such as this, you were allowed to stay as long as you ordered a coffee or tea every half hour pronto.

Undoing the belt on my trench coat and hanging it over the seat, I smoothed my appearance as best as I could from the shiny surface of the table top. Droplets of water dripped down my neck, bringing a chill to my skin and I quickly swiped them away; but the chill remained. It seeped into my bones.

Within the small shop there was little noise, yet it remained eerie compared to the plummeting rain against concrete outside. Scanning the interior, I failed to see the paper Christmas decorations strung around the walls and a blow-up Santa in the corner, its torso looking a little deflated. Even the pastries laden in the glass counter were decorated with green and red icing.

The thought of Christmas away from home once again hits me, a tense knot forming in my chest. This would be five years away from Forks: away from the chaos of vampires, shape-shifting wolves and of having the Volturi breathing down my neck.

A cough from one of the silent customer's breaks me from my reverie. Running his finger through his receding hairline, he continues to scan through his papers without acknowledging my presence. He must be at least in his fifties, yet something about his air of character made me think business man – or perhaps that was the tweed suit and red tie he wore.

Thinking about my own paperwork, I pull out my laptop and files onto the table. While a blank document opens, I crack open Justine's personal file and start to flip through the information. Even if it were a small clue, or just an idea, I could work with them to some degree.

There was something about Justine's warning that sent trembles racing over my skin, the hairs at the nape of my neck to rise. I just couldn't understand how she knew. About Edward. About how dangerous he has become. About how destructive forces were now at work. Even with my own short experience in that new sharp tint to Edward, I knew there was a new destructiveness and lethality to him that wasn't there previously.

A few minutes pass before I realize that nothing in Justine's file will help me in the investigation I feel responsible to take on, to find out why she feels she may die so soon. To have her life end when such a small portion of it has been lived, it's frightening and yet confusing.

I lay my head against my hands. "Nothing here is helping – what am I meant to do?"

Turning to my head to the side I observed my dismal expression in the thin reflection from the window. Looking beyond that, I watch a brisk wind carry the last discarded leaves from the bare trees across the pavement like a string of bones and people hurriedly walking home with their collars of their coats pulled up stiffly and umbrella's being inverted by the strength of the wind.

The waitress comes and places my coffee on the table just as a lean man with disheveled blonde hair and carrying a briefcase walks past. Jack. Tessa's brother. The bell above the door sounds and Jack enters: all at the same time the man with his paperwork looks up with a pleased expression, the waitress pops her gum and I wave Jack over, shouting: "Jack, over here."

"Bella." He seems shocked, eyes wide.

"Yes, it's me." I gesture him to come sit.

He does just that, but not before sparing the man a blank glance and exchanging a short and curt nod. I don't bother asking. As he sits down, I shut Justine's file and push it to the side.

"So what brings you to this part of town, Bella?" He takes off his coat, shaking away the droplets from his hair.

I shrug absent mindedly before sipping at my coffee. "The rain."

The waitress is still hanging around. She raises her penciled in eyebrows, hands on hips. She taps Jack on the shoulder, but her hand lingers before curving around the hard muscles of his shoulder. "Anything I can get for you?"

He pushes her hand off immediately. "No, you can go." She saunters off with an acidic glare thrown my way. Never in my life had I observed Jack to be cruel, but that was so sudden I was almost afraid I imagined it.

"You didn't tell me what brought you here?" I asked.

"Business." He gives a light cough, rubbing his temples. He looked agitated. "Urgent business."

"Well then, I shan't detain you, I promise." I rest a hand on his, looking him in the eyes. There is something there that is distant, even dark and secretive. It makes my heart flutter. I wonder if Tessa knows? Is it something to do with that man?

Jack rests his other hand upon mine, his fingers stroking the skin. Bile rises in my throat as his voice purrs – not in a seductive way, but in a cruel and forbidding manner. "Don't worry, Bella. You won't."

My laptop makes a sudden noise, alerting me to an e-mail. I pull away instantly; sick to the stomach at the thoughts that was circling my head. Jack sits back in his seat, a malicious smile on his lips, his teeth flashing.

I pull up the email. It's from Tessa and I smile with a relief. As I stare at the words wrote on the electronic document, my heart runs at sixth gear. A guttural and raw fear and misery comes crashing over my body – like the everlasting embrace of the ocean and shore had collapsed; now they rage against each other in a pitiful battle. _Justine's been found dead this morning. They think my brother did it. _

The blood freezes in my veins. "Oh my."

"What's wrong, Bella?"

He sits up, his arms resting against the table. The colour drains from my face. Now I see why there was something so off putting about his manner: but, did he actually kill Justine? The way his smile twists and cracks the bones in his fingers gives it away.

"I –I'm sorry Jack I have to go. Critical meeting." I quickly gather my stuff, shoving them into my laptop bag in a hazardous fashion. I don't care for neatness or organization, I just want to run. Adrenaline rages like a wildfire in my legs. Fight or Flight had kicked in.

"I can walk you there," he offers, reaching over for my bag.

"No." I snatch it back before he can take it. Lines crease my face in worry. "I'm alright, thanks. It was nice meeting you. So sorry."

I run out of the café, the sound of the bell ringing in my ears. As I pace myself calmly past the window, I see Tessa's brother twist towards me smiling manically and the man gesturing for Jack to follow. As I start running, I can't feel the ground underneath my feet just the pounding of my blood. The rain soaks me through, until I can feel it clutching onto me. How could just an average day turn into something so twisted? Why would Jack kill poor and defenseless Justine?

While still coming to terms with the news, footsteps start to echo behind me. They bounce off the buildings until they vibrate through my body in shock waves. I drive myself forwards quickly, arching around a corner.

I left like I am the mouse and they were the cat chasing me through the alleyways and the labyrinth of streets. Was this a sick and warped game to them? To chase me until I give up. Until they take me in their arms and did whatever they wanted to me. To make me scream. To kill and torture me in the same way Justine's life was so cruelly taken from her?

Running into a dark alleyway, the sound of footsteps now silent, I see the door to an abandoned club or shop. Quickly I brush a stray piece of hair away from my eyes and run towards it, pushing against the door with all of the force I can muster. It is a void of darkness and I slip inside.

I lean with my back to the door for a few minutes, until the thudding that is my heart calms down until I can hear the silence of the empty space. Pulling out my cell phone from my pocket, I open it and using its dim light follow its eerie glow down the steps. The whole place has a musty smell and I wrinkle my nose in dislike.

The sound of the heels of my shoes against the floor from the last step is loud. It sends frightened spasms down my spine; so much that it makes me shudder and shivers to crawl across my skin. At that moment I feel something curl around my wrist tightly. It almost felt like it clutching the bone. My panicked breath is suspended in my throat, my fear of being discovered making me hold my breath. It must be lose wiring, I decide.

Just as I release my breath, all of a sudden a blinding white light hovers above me. I blink back tears to find the lights have been switched on and I am standing within a nightclub. Secondly: I am surrounded. But, there was no Jack, no old man from the café, just a tall man with a partially bald head, tattoo's covering the bald skin and then twining around his neck and collarbone.

He smiles, revealing the fangs at his front teeth.

I scream. Everything goes black.


	5. Ex Nihilo

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, with exceptions of Tessa, Jack, Neville and Devlin. **

**A special thanks to my friend, Dan, who made me laugh and gave me a little push during a stressful period of writer's block. **

**I Will Not Bow – Breaking Benjamin**

**Sorrow - Flyleaf**

**Chapter Five: Ex Nihilo **

I'm huddled against the corner of the room, my knees pulled up to my chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. I'm curled in on myself. Stone walls surround me, even the floors are stone. It digs into my back and shoulder blade painfully, but I force it back. Small shards of light are cut into the floor in wedges from the small window above my reach, even if I could somehow grapple myself up there it wouldn't matter, there were bars on the outside.

The heat in the basement is unbearable, as if we had descended into hell itself. It was so hot that the walls even seemed to be sweating, lichen and moss growing in cracks in the stone. My hair was plastered to my face and neck.

My body yelps in pain as the stone floor continues to jab me painfully in places that I never knew could be in so much pain. I had to blink back tears. I wasn't going to allow them to see me cry. Even if that meant forcing back the unbearable pain as they tortured me: cut me until I bled scarlet tears, beat me until I was black and blue, pulled my hair until I could feel it ripping from my scalp and threatening to drain me of every last drop of blood I possessed.

Touching the band of red skin around my neck, I wince at the raw tenderness. _Even been nearly choked to death._

I swallow back the immediate tears knowing that showing them I cry will only increase their satisfaction, which I would not do. Not just for my own sake, but for everything I had done in the past years to protect the people I love from the supernatural realm. For the sake of the Cullen's. I wouldn't let them have the pleasure of watching me beg for their undying mercy.

A bolt drew from the door above me so I move my head a fraction, so I could see who was coming to get me this time – sometimes it was the same person, who roughly handled and threatened me with more than his fangs a couple of times, or they'd send someone another who seemed less ruthless. The last bolt cracked and light cut through the floor; I had to blink back tears at its brightness. Living in the dark for a few days, with little or no light, made you accustomed with the paralyzing blackness so much it hurt to look at what was once a feasible gift.

"Time to come upstairs, poppet." He bared his teeth menacingly. "It's time for answers."

Unlike normal kidnappers there was no reason for a mask to conceal his face, but I wish he did. His appearance only made my disgust heighten. In my few, but torturously long, days and nights in this place I had grown even more sickened by him: by his obscure and dark deeds.

As he stepped toward me I saw his pupils enlarge, his eyes coal black. My stomach twisted. Even after cuts healed, fresh ones were left. Fresh blood, new scars.

Inhaling the scent of my blood, his fangs came out and they pierced his bottom lip. "Virgin blood," he chimed, somewhat temporarily intoxicated by the scent. "That's the best kind."

"First time for everything," I sneered. My voice was dry and cracked, my throat parched with lack of nourishment. That only made my pathetic attempt at a back-chat sound like a lame cheap shot.

"Shut up, blood bag," he hissed, back-handing me across the cheek with his hand. It was like metal striking me and I had to bite back a scream at the pain that flared in the right side of my face.

"Get up," he commanded.

I looked up at him through a hooded gaze, wiping away a bead of blood at my lip. "If I refuse?"

"You will not."

He roughly grabbed me by the elbow and hauled me up onto my unsteady feet. My legs felt like melted candle wax and I nearly fell against him, but I stood up on shaky legs with as much dignity as I could muster.

With the small amount of light from the window, I could see the tattoo's he wore like trophies ripple along with his sickeningly bulging muscles. They were inked across his chest, snaked around his collarbone like a coiling boa constrictor before continuing to loop around his bald head in nauseating patterns. For every challenge he gained, he got a new tattoo to symbolize his victory. I have trouble breathing looking at the inked representation of a butterfly at the base of his neck: the little girl he slaughtered just a drawn award against his skin. It sickened me to the point that I started to retch up air.

"Get a move on." He roughly pushed me forward toward the stairs.

Holding onto the railing, I turn toward him. "You won't get away with this, I swear," I spit.

Grabbing me by the neck he starts to shake me violently. I try to grapple with his large hands wrapped around my throat, clawing at his fingers to let me go. My breath escapes in large gasps as I struggle to break free as he lifts me from the ground. My feet dangle and I start to throttle around frantically for air. I could feel the hysterical beating of my heart vibrating in my ears, pulsing in every vein as if trying to break free like a caged wild bird – the pain was torrential as my heart beat against my already beaten, with a few potential broken, ribs.

As I began to black out, he dropped me to the ground. I clutched my chest, coughing and spluttering as I tried to draw in as much air as possible. Then I felt the steel cap of his boot against my chest as he kicked me violently to the floor. I fell onto my back, gasping in agony.

_Don't cry. Don't cry. _I chant to myself like a mantra, a dominating command that demands me to be strong.

He kicks me in the side again. Pain begins to blossom everywhere – it throbbing from my fingertips down to my toes. I curl onto myself protectively.

Leaning over me, his shadow casts darkness over my face. I hold back a painful breath. "If you weren't needed to answer our questions, I would drain you completely until there was nothing left but an empty body. Nothing," he growled.

Silence.

"Nothing to say now, bitch?"

Silence.

"I didn't think so." He spits and it falls to the ground near my face. For a moment, my mind drifts: _how could this have happened? I've been reduced to nothing but a filthy prisoner. _But I'm wrenched from the thought that now circles my head as he hauls me up, wrapping a neck around my throat once more and drags me upstairs and through the door.

The club is empty and derelict. The dance floor is nothing if not an extra layer of dust, the tables and chairs are stacked and the only lighting that seems to work is a single light bulb. The bar, however, is in business. The table top has been polished and two vampires stare at me as I'm dragged by, their eyes fixed to the blood dripping down my chin. A woman with a fiery tangle of red hair smiles viciously – then they are clinking glasses of blood together and swallowing it down. My throat closes up.

"Here she is," he growls, opening the door to my torture chamber and thrusting me inside. I fall into my hands and knees, the flooring giving me further carpet burn on my legs.

"Good. Leave now. Deal with the other one." A tall blonde vampire waves him away with a long slender hand. The door shuts behind me, the lock clicking into place. At first he looked harmless, but I had learned better judgment. The blonde vampire was more than cruel, he was malicious – you could even see it burning in his eyes.

He swirls his drink of blood by the stem of the glass. "I hope you had time to re-think your stubbornness with us yesterday."

I don't answer. Not just because it was me being arrogant, but my voice was hidden within the folds of my throat.

"She has a haughty temper, Devlin. Perhaps some persuasion."

The second companion had dark colored skin and it contrasted frighteningly with his blood red eyes. It sent shiver's rippling up my spine on sight. Dreadlock's hung loosely around his shoulders and hung down his back. He looked somewhat familiar.

Devlin licked his lips. "Patience, Laurent." Sharper than anything I've heard in days, screams pierced my hearing and I jammed my fists to my ears to block it out. Devlin and Laurent smile, revealing their pointed fangs. "Nothing as sweet as sorrow," he sighs deliberately.

I start to crawl away as Devlin then swoops down on his knees, his eyes drilling into mine. "_Isabella_," he chimes in such a soft voice the hairs at the nape of my neck raise. The use of my full name on his lips sounds alien, like it doesn't belong. Yet the use of my short name seems too friendly, to intimate for a prisoner and her capturer.

"Do you want to escape?" He strokes the skin on my wrist. I try not to jerk away, but his touch brings bile to my throat. "Do you want to go home? To your friends and family?"

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak.

"Help us. In return we will allow you to go unharmed." His breath hits me in the face and it's lethal, making my head thump. My skull throbs. "Look at yourself in the mirror, look at what you've become."

Withdrawing a small mirror from near him, he holds it to me and for first time in days I see what I _have_ been reduced to. I see the cuts and bruises lined across my skin in the pattern of my beatings, the raw ring of skin around my neck that looks as if it's been cuffed and I'm horrified by what has become of my face. Now it's just a map of everything I've suffered through: my nose looks broken, it sitting at a crooked angle, my cheekbones are swollen, my lip has burst – I run my tongue over it and taste the salt from my tears and blood – my eyes look old and worn, and then my hair is a messy tangle atop my head, clumps of pulled-out strands still clinging to my shoulders. I wrench myself away, not wanting to look any further.

"Isabella." He puts the mirror away but was still kneeling close enough that I wanted to crawl away. "Help us."

Laurent exhales heavily, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "As if she is going to tell you anything."

"She will."

The works are final. This is it: he's going to torture me. He's going to make me suffer until I let slip everything I've done, everything I know about the supernatural realm. For what purposes he wants to gain this information, I had yet to fully understand. Devlin stands up as quick as releasing an arrow from a bow and takes a few steps back.

His eyes glow with a fierceness I knew I didn't imagine. "Laurent," his voice is cool, calm. Underneath that mask of calm there would be a layer cruelty I never thought susceptible. "Get the bucket."

"Of course." Laurent leaves the room and returns shortly with a bucket full of water. My heart lurches.

I try to crawl away but Laurent grabs a hold of my neck once again, my throat closing up for a scream although I knew it was of no use. Screaming was painful; it dredged up every ounce of strength I had left so I wouldn't cry as well. With limited rations of food and water, my stomach had shrunk and my throat had become excruciatingly dehydrated. It hurt to talk, to shriek, to sob tearlessly, to scream. He shook me harshly, "Stop screaming, you stupid bitch!"

Devlin only seemed impressed. I tried to swallow down the hard knot in my throat, but it failed. "Tell me about the Volturi."

"Never," I hissed through clenched teeth. "I won't tell you a thing." I was singing a lie I half-way knew: to be honest, I knew very little of the Volturi. I was only aware that they controlled the supernatural realm and Aro was the ruling patriarch. Nothing more, nothing less.

"We'll see about that," Laurent pulled me over to the bucket and before I could catch my breath thrust my head into freezing cold water.

I gasped instantly and lost my breath. I started to thrash around, but Laurent had my hands pinned behind my back strongly. The freezing cold water pierced me instantly and it felt like having ice cubes thrust down my throat. I inhaled the water and I felt it filling up my lungs, inflating them with icy water. It continued to swell unlike it felt like the water was pouring from my own lungs, up my throat and back out. Darkness began to sweep across my vision but I was pulled out of the bucket.

Falling to the floor, I coughed up the water and dragged in large gasps of air. At first I retched the air back up as well, I felt like a balloon losing all of its breath. By now I was shivering violently and it didn't help that my saturated hair was plastered around my face.

"I'll ask again," Devlin mutters, sipping at his drink once more tranquilly. "Tell me about the Volturi. Where are they located?"

"I don't know," I say breathlessly, as I blink rapidly as water drips from my eyelashes and falls against my skin, making another tremble rocket through my body. I feel as if I will never get warm again.

He sits his glass onto the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Laurent, please."

"Noooo," but my words are cut off as my head is once again submerged into the bucket of freezing cold water. This time I'm more prepared and hold my breath, but the icy chill continues to shake my body like a high-magnitude earthquake. I'm pulled out and my hair whips against my face. The pain intensified when Laurent slaps his hand against my cheek – the pain is worse that my skin is cold, it having made it less protected by the loss of immediate heat. By now it felt like the water had even penetrated my heart – its pulsing beat freezing over. Every sound vibrates in my ears.

A vein throbs in Devlin's temple now and I see it. That once mask of calm shedding its false skin to reveal its true anger and agitation. Somewhere in my mind though, I knew this wouldn't last forever. _I'll soon have to give an answer; if I get any colder I'll freeze to death._

Kneeling in front of me this time, he holds out a hand and grasps my chin between his fingers. Even through this simple gesture, it feels as if he is gripping the bone underneath the skin. "You will tell me where to find the Volturi, now!"

"I don't know, I swear." My statement is feeble and his grasp tightens. I give a small whimper, the pain becoming overwhelmingly hard to bite back. Acidic tears were already building behind my lids and they were threatening to spill over.

"You do," he growls as his fangs are now piercing his bottom lip. "Reveal their location to me, or I swear I will drain every living particle from you. Then I will find your friends and family."

I look up at him through what now feels like a swollen eye. "Do you promise?"

His expression suddenly softens and he draws himself away from me. "I give you my word." Behind those glassy eyes however, I see different. I know he's lying. I quickly run through my mind for a fake location to give them, anything that can get me out of this situation. Any location I can use that can prevent me from dying today. "Where is there location?" he repeats.

"Russia," I breathe.

Laurent releases his grasp from around my neck slightly. "She could be lying."

"Where about in Russia, Isabella?"

"I don't know were about exactly –" The hand is tight around my neck again and ready to throw me one last time into the bucket of water, but Devlin holds up a hand for Laurent to stop.

His foot taps against the floor in an irritating manner. "Carry on."

"But," I give a light cough, taking in another gasp of air as a violent shudder is carried through my body fiercely. "But it's in the North somewhere, I heard. The entrance is underneath a church, a sewer grate. It leads to their main hide-out. That's all I know."

"Hmm…." Devlin contemplates over the false idea I hoped to have planted as he cracks each one of his knuckles. "We must check this location out first, Isabella, before I can believe you." _No surprise there. _

I swallow down a lump in my throat. "And if you find I'm lying."

"Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit, _Isabella_."

I couldn't understand what that meant – was it Italian, Latin? By now, the noises in the room next to them have stopped. Devlin gives two raps on the door and then tattooed-guy comes back in. "Jude, is everything finished next door?"

"Yes," he gives a cruel smile, his eyes narrowed to slits. "All finished."

"Very good. Take her back down, we are done here." He waves his hand off and then exits the room, Laurent trailing behind.

I'm left with Jude, popping his knuckles. My wet hair clings to my skin, hanging down my back. Shivers are ripping through my body unconsciously and I can't stop. "I'll see it that you're properly taken care of," he says scornfully.

I don't even have the power to fight him as he hauls me over his shoulder and takes me back downstairs into the basement. By this time I feel as if every attempt I've tried has been futile. He sets me down in the middle of the floor, I look around confused and I have to squint in the darkness to see it. There is a huge pole in the middle of the room and from it spans chains with neck-locks on them. I try to scramble away quickly, but his burly arms catch me out and I'm dragged back, the neck-lock snapped shut around my throat.

"That will hold you, poppet." He taps me on the head, his laughter still echoing in the room once he's left.

As soon as the door is shut, the locks pulled into place, I struggle against the chains. Pulling, tugging, wrenching at them with my hands, jerking them on the pole to see if they'd break. I even screamed, but of course that wouldn't help. I fell back in defeat.

"Nothing will get you out."

I jump up, the voice cracked and strained. I listen for the sounds of another presence, but it's nothing but silence. My heart leaps into my throat. "Where are you?"

"Same as you," it replies quietly. "Chained like a caged animal."

"How did you get here?" I enquired, a spark of hope flaring in my chest.

There is a long sigh. "Through dark and ghastly deeds."

"We can escape," I try to mumble, but even saying the words on my tongue sounds wrong. The words still sound so false.

"Don't be foolish, Bella."

Silence engulfs me. The darkness seems to spread out thickly. My hands scramble around as I try to grapple with something, anything I could use as a weapon to defend myself. How did this person know my name? "How do you know me?"

"Look and see."

The light from the small window to far from reach is spread across the ground lightly, so light it looked like it fade again at any moment leaving us in complete darkness. Chain's shuffle and then a see a slight and crooked figure emerge: his face has been badly beaten but I can still make out the main features; monotonous grey eyes with lines of age underneath as if they'd been raked into his skin, a tight lipped expression and that slight sharp edge to his nose. Shock welled up in my throat so when I did speak it was strained and hardly understandable.

"Neville! What are you doing here?"

***Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit is Latin and means "out of nothing comes nothing."**

**Thank you for all of your reviews and kind comments that have continually been my driving force to continue. Please keep them coming, I'd be grateful to hear more of your opinions. **

**What did you think?**

**Will Devlin discover Bella's lying before she's rescued?**

**Why has Neville been beaten and thrown in the basement also?**

**What has Bella been doing in the past years to protect the one's she loves, including the Cullen's?**


	6. Watcher

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, with exceptions of Tessa, Jack, Neville and Devlin. **

**With a massive thanks to everybody who helped craft Darklisle into this chapter. **

"_Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to." – Oscar Wilde _

**Chapter Six: Watcher**

**CPOV**

It's early in the morning when a sound from outside the house rouses me from the pages of my book, my fingers keeping the pages spread apart. A crease forms on my brow as I try to determine the source of the noise – footsteps, animals patrolling their grounds, or my own paranoid setting me up. With little or no desire to find out willingly, I continued to scan the pages of _"Inferno" _– to me, it were almost as if they were a set of instructions for my descent into the hands of God.

Although I fully understood my keen awareness to God and his judgment, the other's of my coven were somewhat clouded in their verdict's – it was almost bringing the political upheaval in Florence, where "_Inferno" _was written_, _into a contemporary situation involving a group of vampire's discussing their closing moments, and whether their climax would be worth their strife. Yet again, the prose was also the comedic out-front to Heaven and Hell, while being a flawless amalgamation of Ovid, Virgil and Aristotle in a single writing style. In the foreground, the flames in the hearth spring to further life; crackles and snaps echoing in the large empty room before bouncing toward me, or escaping into the cool night air through the ajar window. It was ironic to think that my drifting thoughts of Hell had provoked the flames to rise from its fiery cocoon.

Revisiting the turning pages once more, I start to think of _"Inferno" _as a diplomatic argument over the perfection of God's judgment in accord with sinned souls and evil as a contradiction of his extended will over this populous earth. Perhaps, having the text sitting against my lap, it were here to give me ground to work toward when trying to redeem myself from my sins: indulgencing in a perpetual lifestyle of youthfulness, an everlasting thirst for human blood and the palpable mortal offences I undertook without understanding their consequences.

There is was an explicit correspondence between my own immortal sin and the punishment I would receive for my offenses. That simple idea provided me with a basis of understanding the perfection of God's justice: The Sullen choking on mud, the Wrathful attacking one another and so on – and while to other's it may seem like the embodiment of malevolence and errant viciousness, I knew they were the remedy to these certain punishments. With such dated age came that distant knowledge that become useful in current situations. Reading _Dante's _perception of this hellish system helped me to conclude my own fate and to appreciate the symbolism at God's hand in justice: that Hell was created for Justice and Judgment, and it exists to punish sin and that suitability of its specific punishments are certified against the divine perfection that that sin has violated.

_It is a suitable taxonomy of human evil, _I say to myself in a thin whisper.

Settling further into the armchair, the leather like a second skin, I crossed my legs at the ankles as silence is once again restored to grand house. It was to quiet without the sound of my coven prattling about, or the frantic beating of a wild heart like a caged bird trying to gain freedom.

Something in the back of my mind tingled, my muscles tensed, as I thought of freedom. It wasn't the sort of conspicuous frankness that humans had, as us supernatural were an anarchy of orthodoxy – it was the consistent system of traditionalism that had led us to this contradictory war. It was the variant clash of Vampire's against the Watchers, yet at such a large scale than in the past so that humans were our ever-present pawns in the game. In the supernatural realm, The Watchers were like Abraham Van Helsing against Dracula, except that this time Van Helsing was also a vampire. Their foolish convictions over our sins had led to the lives of many innocent humans and supernatural being taken away – The Watcher's were almost like "good vampires" if that was stereotypically possible, convicting us of mortal and immortal sins, yet it was such a trivial idea as they had lately taken to attacking humans and the supernatural.

_Like the recent Tunnel Twenty in North London, _I thought while a momentary coil of annoyance at the Volturi, and misery for the lost people created a knot in my throat.

My thoughts even drifted towards Isabella Swan, who had now become an unconscious victim in this cruel and unnecessary fixture – competition between two for power, just Aro's sort of pastime. I wasn't even sure she understood the part she played. Taking to London to observe the Watcher's movements had even lead to myself occasionally watching over Isabella – she seemed so little aware of everything going on around her. Being in the middle of it only made the situation worse, considering the Volturi knew nothing of her being in London – they thought her in the Volturi Castle, with Edward. But somewhere lodged in the back of my mind, I knew the decoy wouldn't last forever, but then what happens to that poor girl? Deprived of her family and friends she should have been fragile, like a sheet of glass waiting to be cracked in half, but she'd became strong: fervent in her desire to leave and keen to never show fault, nor flaw.

Looking at the grandfather clock from the corner of my eye unconsciously, I settle the book down on the coffee table besides me and rise from the armchair, shedding the second skin I'd become so accustomed within the past few months. Sitting in the chair gave me a sort of calamity of mind, but leaving its soothing presence brought a rushing agitation to overwhelm me. The embers in the fireplace have now settled to considerable low flames and I raise my palms to them, warming them if it were so possible. A knock on the door echoes through the room, a shadow visible from the wedge of light that undulates from beneath the doorway.

_As usual, lateness is not an issue, _I muse. Walking toward the door, I turn the knob and it swings open gracefully. There standing in front of me is a male blonde vampire, his eyes golden as if he'd just hunted. Rosalie, a waterfall of blonde curls rushing down her back in a cascade, with a hand on her hip. There was no surprise at Jasper's appearance at our home; he was always her regardless of his current needed presence in London, but seeing Rosalie was a surprise – Normally, she wouldn't see herself fit enough to join these meetings without snapping out a imprecise comment. At her side was a small pixie brunette with an innocent face, yet those piercing red eyes demolished that image almost instantly. Jane Volturi.

"Once again on time," I say, gesturing for them to step inside my study.

"You clearly underestimate our talent with timing," Rosalie states proudly, her facial expression stern. I was used to Rosalie's mannerisms nowadays; it was her cure to breaking the ice amongst silent or dour company in her eyes. It seemed to work too, the tension released and a ghost of a smile lingering on my lips.

Jasper and Rosalie step into the room quickly, Jane Volturi advances in with a soft, but deadly, step. Her features are abrupt and striking for one such a young age: her cheekbones as sharp as daggers and eyes so piercingly shrill.

"I surely must, Rosalie," I reply softly, shutting the door behind their advancing figures. The lock tightened straight away and for once I was glad of that added precaution.

Jane Volturi sits on the chair opposite my desk, her expression stern now that such welcoming trivialities have been finished. She crosses his legs, "Shall we get down to business, Carlisle."

I give a heavy sigh and walk toward the fireplace once more, hoping the flames would warm me like they would do a human. Rosalie seems taken back by the action – I knew my daughter hated what she had become and still found the adjustments hard, but she was coping better than I anticipated.

For a quick fleeting moment, I wonder if my body was inverted would the venom run warm inside of me. Is it only my skin that runs at the temperature of last ring of Hell? – forever cold to the touch like ice blossoming underneath the skin so heat could never warm me through? Jasper waits patiently and I pinch the bridge of my nose. "We shall."

"Carlisle," Jane asks. "How go your observations over the Watcher's? What have you found?"

"I'm tracking their movements, but their constantly on the move," I walk toward the winged armchair and sit back in it, the leather once again comforting.

Rosalie's eye twitches for a brief second, her eyebrow raised, "A defense mechanism, perhaps?"

"There must surely be a reason for them to moving around so rapidly, Carlisle: could they be feeding grounds, maybe?" Jasper is anything but subtle when talking of taking human lives to satisfy our eternal cravings and he notices as a shudder ripples through my body. Jane Volturi seems unfazed by the idea.

I lean back against the armchair, the leather surrounding me until I could smell it – could taste the warm radiating from the warmth in the room on my tongue. "I don't think so, Jasper. No bodies have been left and no deaths have been announced around them certain areas," I mention, choking back the dread in the back of my throat.

"Could they have been dumped?" Rosalie adds, her voice slightly raised above a tremble.

My head shakes as if of an unconscious order. "I highly doubt it, Rose."

"It is tempting to capture one of them," Jane speaks out-loud, tapping her small fingers against her knee's as she thinks. There is a small gold ring on her index finger and the blood red jewel reflects the flames from the fireplace. I knew her twin, Alec, had another of the same ring. "If we did, we could interrogate them and find out their intentions."

A muscle tenses in Jasper's jaw, as if enthralled by the idea. Rosalie just crosses her arms around her slender chest arrogantly, her painted nails cutting in the flesh of her wrist until it looked like she was clutching the bone underneath. "And if one of us is killed in the process? What will it be worth then?" her voice is higher than intended and it vibrates through the floor, under my feet.

"You will have then done a good deed for your kind," Jane hisses, her eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at Rose.

"That is such an obscene idea! – Who do you think you ar–" Jasper places a calming hand on Rose's shoulder and she instantly her shoulders slump, her fists no longer clenched until I thought she may draw venom with her sharp nails. "I hate it when you do that, Jasper," she huffs.

He shrugs looking in my direction. He recognizes the calm mask pulled over my face as if he'd read it a million times, "I believe we may not have to. Carlisle, do you have another solution."

Jane looks at me through curious eyes. "I snuck upon of their hideouts a few nights before and I may have gained a few insights, although puzzling it may help us gain the upper-hand in this battle."

The silence in the house, bare for the ticking of the grandfather clock, starts to become unbearable: every single pair of eyes – golden and red – bear down on me like weights. I lick my lips, stroking the leather on the arm rests with the pads of my fingertips soothingly. "We are aware that the Watcher's find themselves with a master," the group nods in approval. "On that night, I heard them referring to him as the 'Magister' which is Latin for master. They said their intentions were true, but his judgment was becoming clouded with hatred."

"If that is so, what could it possibly mean? He is of our kind, is he not?" Jasper's eyes flick from mine to Jane's warily, as if we were hiding a secret. Jane seemed unperturbed by my son's evident skepticism. A trace of the same distrust followed upon my daughter's face – only more unmistakable.

"I also overheard them say that his original aims were being polluted by images of revenge for what we once did to him," I finished while three faces stared back at me with probing eyes, inquisitive questions brewing behind them. "After overhearing this as such, they have moved. It's almost as if they can predict when my presence is near enough to them."

Jane Volturi seems intrigued by the simplest of ideas, her eyes aglow with fervent pleasure. _She only lives to serve Aro, _I think inwardly. But, in the back of my mind I knew that Jane and Alec's lives had been so cruelly twisted and warped by Aro's power-driven ways: changing them both at twelve had been an advantage, yet such a sickeningly idea it made me nauseous to think of it. As their minds were still so raw with youthfulness, they found comfort in Aro who welcomed them and as they grew they become accustomed to his ruthless ways and had even managed to re-create it for themselves. Jane and Alec were just Aro's puppets on strings: yet those dolls had managed to fledge themselves in Aro's shadows, with his same cruel tendencies.

The Volturi crest – a ruby embossed 'V' hanging from a golden chain – dangles from around her neck as it shines with an incandescent glow, as if the amount of Jane's willing servitude toward the ruling patriarch of the supernatural realm kept it alight from the inside. "Revenge is bittersweet," she mutters. "It makes the perfect motive to attack us. Aro will be pleased with this development, Carlisle."

"Anything to help us along," I incline my head. As the ruling patriarch of my own coven, I had pledged my loyalty to Aro – yet his power-hungry ways still made the air come whooshing out of my empty lungs as I thought of the business he had dealt to get where he was. Moreover, I marveled over when his governance in the supernatural realm would come to crumbling end.

"If only we knew with whom he wants revenge with specifically," Jasper suggests, clicking his fingers. "It would help in discovering the tactic's he's playing.

Rosalie flings her arms in the air and for a passing moment, she looked unsettled instead of the efficient and charming daughter I knew. "It's not like we keep records of everyone we kill, Jasper. We have very little chance of ever finding out," she scorns.

"Rosalie is correct. We will have little chance of ever discovering why this "Magister" wants to deal out his revenge." I tap my knee with my hand rhythmically as I now find that the past we've dealt will never relent, but linger like haunting poltergeists.

"Can you observe their hide-out once more, Carlisle?" Jane Volturi questions, her lips pursed tightly together until it looks almost innocent – yet under that false identify, I knew there was something dark and disturbed, something Aro had created. "Perhaps you may overhear once more."

Something indefinable flashes in her red eyes as she says those words, but I don't take any action to take notice, "Unfortunately, I cannot." Those once innocent eyes widen in annoyance. "I cannot, as I have not yet discovered their new location. Once I have, we may try to gain some new information," I continued, watching her facial features lighten from its previous layer of irritation.

Jane Volturi brushes at her dark robes with the slim, bony fingers of a child. I watch her earnestly for any sign of this conversation continuing. Rosalie seems as equally fed up as I am. "Very well, Carlisle. You have given us something new to think about and Aro will be happy. I shall return to Volterra now."

"What about Isab-" my words are instantly cut off as I realize what I'm about to say. I feel like jamming my fist into my mouth to keep me quiet – I could be giving Isabella away right now, telling Jane of the Volturi that they hold an imposter and not the real Isabella Swan. Rosalie and Jasper stiffen; their muscles severely taut. I quickly come up with a white lie, "Have you figured what Isabella has to be with these Watcher's?"

Jane looks at me skeptically and then gives a long deliberate sigh. "Eleazer Denali thinks it's because she will hold a great power once changed. Her inability to Aro's, Edwards and my own gifts" – she clenches her teeth as she grinds her teeth – "will make for a grand Talent, I'm sure."

"Of course," I nod in approval, hoping that my face doesn't portray the reality of how horror struck I actually am. "Thank you for coming, Jane of the Volturi. Rosalie will escort you out."

Rose shoots me a strict glare before leaving my office with Jane. I sink into the chair in frustration, tugging my fingers through my blonde hair to release some of the tension. Jasper gives me a long side glance, "Your emotions are running wild, Carlisle. You almost gave Bella away."

"I know, Jasper. I know!" I repeat, watching my own hands clench and unclench in front of me.

His gaze sweeps from an old London antique from my child years on the table to me. I can feel his eyes drilling into my own. "You have to control yourself, Carlisle. You can't keep wandering up North to watch her. The Volturi already surely suspect something."

I clench my teeth to stop from a predatory growl escaping from between them. "I'm not watching her, Jasper, only securing my belief that she is safe and well."

"I know you better than this, Carlisle. You are struggling to cope, especially since after –"

"Don't mention it, Jasper." I jump up from the winged armchair and cross to the mini fridge in the corner of the room. I open it up a little more violently than usual and pour myself a glass of blood – I swallow it down eagerly, but even that doesn't take away the violent burning in my throat. Every time I thought of Isabella my thirst became so unbearable – I'm a monster to test my ability to reel it in everything I get close enough to her, close enough that I can smell her blood as if it was leaping off her skin. You could say I was addicted: like an alcoholic to their drink, a drug-addict to their needed fix.

Jasper gives a small laugh. "Carlisle, you are thirsty every time you think of her. I can feel how deep your adoration for her is, but if you want her safe it has to stop."

I inwardly curse my son's ability to feel and manipulate people's emotions. "There is nothing I hold for Isabella besides mutual respect and protectiveness. She wanted nothing to do with this world, Jasper. If we drag her into this, I fear she may never forgive us."

"Do you not think that for the best?" Jasper leans against a large bookcase, the spines of the volumes digging into his back, but he had taken no notice.

"And if the Watcher's should capture her to use her for their own selfish gain?" I ask, venom flowing onto my parched tongue.

The idea of Isabella with the Watcher's made me eager to make sure she was safe again. To zoom up to north London as fast as possible to discover she was safe and well – she's properly be asleep by now, her mahogany hair fanned out across the pillow, her soft features relaxed as she dreams while the sheets are twisted around her sleeping figure. I shake my head, but the thought lingers for a brief moment before fleeing to the back of my mind.

Jasper is watching me intently. In the faint light of the fireplace, his battle scars shine like silver filament wire embedded underneath his skin. I feel sorry for all of the pain my son feels over his past, but he wears it proudly. After finding Alice, he's managed. "She is safe for now, Carlisle. There is little need to fear – I believe she and a friend have taken a vacation for a few days from work."

"What did you say, Jasper?" My finger's tremble; the stem of the glass shaking as I hold it between my fingertips.

He picks up a blue bound poetry book and starts to flick through it, his eyes scanning through the pages quicker than I could blink if I were human. "I got a call from the London University. It seems the meeting for their presentation has been cancelled due to the two girl's taking a vacation."

"Are you sure?" I question, eagerness filling up the empty space in my chest where there was little need for air.

Jasper nods. Something doesn't add up and I quickly zoom toward my desk and quickly pick out a file from one of the drawers. I open it up and search through my many years worth collecting evidence until I pick out a single sheet of paper. It was an e-mail from the London University I received two days ago confirming the date and time for the appointment. "Jasper," he looks up from the poetry book. "When did they call you?"

"Yesterday and they even sent a letter. Here," he withdraws a slim white envelope from his pocket, pulls the letter free and places it on the desk for me to read. "Look here," he points to the paragraph stating Isabella's absence.

At the top right hand corner I can see a small imprint, just barely visible. Swiftly opening the drawer, I apply the magnifying glass to the page. Even with vampire sight, the Watcher's had improved their communication skills once we had intercepted their contact – leaving behind faint family symbols on their writing stationary. This one was small, but defined: the concave shape of a shield and inside the symbol of the dragon, yet this dragon was curved into the shape of a distinct "D." My eyes froze on the hidden symbol, the names associated with it making adrenaline run live in my veins as a feeling of horror rose from my chest. _The Noel Family_.

At that moment, Rose came running back inside and walked toward the desk. With us both silent, she leaned over the letter and peered into the magnifying glass. "You've got to be pulling my leg," Rose exclaims loudly. "How the hell did they find her? Even, which one is it?"

"Not by coincidence, Rose, I assure you" I gesture to the letter with my hand. "And I have no idea; it could be either of the Noel males."

"This is no joke, but we need to find Bella this instant." Rosalie springs into frenzied action, folding the letter back up and shoving it into the pocket of her designer jeans. "You do know this means she is in terrible danger."

I clench my fist tightly. The consequences of Bella being with, or knowing, the Noel family had devastating consequences that I couldn't bear to consider without pain. The Noel family was a prime suspect in the Volturi's investigation into the Watcher's. Especially since the Volturi killed the beloved of both the males – a human called Carlotta.

"We have to find her, Carlisle," Rose says so fast it seems to be slurred.

"No," I say, my eyes jet black with the intensity of the emotions that are welling up inside of me. "I will go. Call Alice to come to London and once she's here, meet me at the London University. If she has indeed been kidnapped, or worse" – I choke on the words – "we will have to find her, and quickly. We cannot let hope linger on the thought that they will be nice to Isabella, cause they won't."

Jasper puts hand on my shoulder, "Do you think it's wise to go find a girl whom who's blood you cannot resist for too long."

"I won't let it get in the way of my duty, Jasper," I said, turning out of my office quickly and heading down toward the garage hidden away. My black Mercedes was ready to go.

Rosalie follows behind me closely, her hand brushing against my elbow. "Where are you going to go first?"

"To pay Isabella's home a visit," I murmur, pulling my car keys from my pocket, unlocking the door and slipping inside.

"Carlisle," Rosalie rushes toward the window and looks at me with anxious eyes. She grasps my upper arm and squeezes tightly. "Find her and make sure she's safe. I know she means a lot to you."

I put my hand on her shoulder, "Thank you, Rose." The sound of the engine roars in my ears, "Get Alice and meet me soon, we may need your help."

Before she could question the "we" part, I sped out of the garage and onto the designated road toward London, the bare winter tree's flying behind me as I drove toward the city lights. With one hand on the steering wheel, I withdrew my phone and dialed the number unconsciously. Eleazer Denali picked up after the third ring, "Carlisle, what's wrong?"

"I need you to meet me in North London as soon as possible," I breathed, curving around a sharp corner without a care for speed limits.

"Are you mad, Carlisle?" Eleazer fumes, his voice almost a hiss. "If I leave the Volturi will get suspicious, they already have their doubts. What is your reason for calling me away from them?"

I drive just by the "You're entering London" sign as my voice finally escapes from between my lips. "I need information on the two Noel males – Devlin and Duncan. Isabella may be in danger."

**This was my first time writing from Carlisle's point of view for this fiction piece and I hope it does him justice. Please keep posting reviews and comments, I'd be grateful to hear more of your opinions. **

**What did you think of the new twist?**

**What's Devlin and Duncan's role in the plot?**

**Why does the Watcher's "Master" want revenge?**

**Will Carlisle be-able to resist the allure of Bella's blood?**

**Does the Volturi know that Bella is secretly in London?**


	7. Breakaway

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, with exceptions of Tessa, Jack, Neville, Devlin and Duncan.**

**I've been reading the "Twilight: The Official Guide" and have found out some surprising facts about the character's, and I have to say and I guarantee it's completely worth the buy. I completely recommend it to anyone who's a fan of "The Twilight Saga."**

**Chapter Seven: Breakaway **

**BPOV**

The ground beneath me felt unstable, my whole body shivering violently as I rocked back and forth on my heels: Neville's figure was once again obscured by blanketing shadows, yet his words clung to the walls, encased in the concrete. The whole room smelt like bittersweet lies. The one word I need to voice is clenched behind my teeth, "Why?"

"I doubt you would understand my reasons," he says, his tone hollow. "I had to do what I did."

The emptiness of his voice, the room, everything so desolate causes a flourishing ache to spread within my chest. The barrenness of my surroundings was eerie, sounds like whiplash to my ears as it's amplified by the bare walls. "You did not have to make that choice. Now do you see where your indecision has led us?"

"To a death-grip situation where we are unlikely to survive," he continues; the ending to his sentence left hanging in the air.

"You didn't need to drink their blood. You could have chosen otherwise," my voice slices through the silent pause.

Had drinking vampire blood make Neville so vacant, so stripped of consequences and emotions? It was as if he were a raw mass of crude numbness, with no sensitivity or emotion. Just a blank slate. The thought made dread pool in my stomach, or was it fear?

I rub at the rough surface of my legs, trying to force my troubles into the action. "My desire to live unfortunately led me in the opposite direction. It was more of an infection than the cancer that taints my body; then they found me, offering me another path to take. The opportunity had fallen in my lap."

"They offered you servitude to the undead," I said thinly.

"During such a time of ordered happiness how can you expect me to carry on dying? To be-able to watch my family carry on, while I wither away? Isn't this such sweet sorrow for someone who has completely sold out all of their values," emotion was thick in his words, but his voice was choked on the feelings that welled inside of him.

"You are just a blood-bag to them, Neville. There's a price for such a sweet escape from death: as you carry on watching them grow, you become remote and everything becomes vague besides the blood. You crave it every moment – it's so bad you endanger the ones you love most. You would end up leaving them regardless. It's all for the blood: every move, every breath and every minute you spend dragging yourself on," I practically plead and I know the truth is hitting home.

Neville's breathing is hard and rigid like he's swallowing down large gasps of air that are as useless as food and water. I can almost imagine the sweat beading on his brow as he starts thinking of the blood – the elixir dripping through his parted lips, it racing through his veins in ecstasy.

I can hear it now: his raced breathing. It's rough and choked – just as stiff as cardboard._ I just hope he isn't thirsty for human blood_, I think. "How was I supposed to know," he grunts. "All I knew was that these mythical creatures were offering me a chance at life in exchange for sparing some information. I didn't know why," he finishes, panting like it was his last.

"What exactly did you tell them?" I challenge. "Every detail, Neville."

I felt so terribly sorry for Neville's misfortune, yet anger manifested itself into a cold sweat that dripped down my back. It made my clothes stick even tighter to my skin, until it clung like a second skin I could peel away. I'd been tortured, beaten, cut and threatened for information and it was all because of his wishful mistake of trusting vampires – he'd told them of me, of what I did, where I lived and who I had connections with. Nonetheless, Neville hadn't known about vampires, or how unrealistically cruel and malicious they were, I had that experience: even if I wanted it, or not. Being unacquainted with such evil had led him to being so easily persuaded into an arrangement which he was surely going to suffer from – Neville knew he was going to die soon from the terminal cancer, so surely that burning desire to live would have set in, yet to give away information on his colleague?

Everything just made my head pound with unanswered questions. "I didn't tell them much. They seemed to know a lot without my help," he answered.

The knowledge that he let so little slip was comforting, yet disturbing at the same time. How the vampires had known so much about me already, I had no idea. Had I left so bad a trail back in Forks?

"If I am going to be able to trust you again, you need to tell me what they know," I implore. "If we're going to escape, Neville." It hangs in the air like an open question – but our combined silence just answers the question: _I don't think we will escape_. "If you want to help me get us out of the mess that you helped create."

My words felt so vindictive, bitter enough to make me bite my tongue. The truth was safely clenched behind my teeth: I could save myself, but I knew Neville could not be helped. An unfaithful addiction such as this would be his untimely end, once started it could never be stopped; he would become an danger even in the most simplest of social situations – he'd crave the blood, becoming a slave to the taste of an corrupt lifestyle he'd never want. The only solution would put blood on my hands; sins I didn't want clinging to my own skin, anymore than I wanted to hold these dark secrets that found me.

Never mind the fact for all this time I was singing a lie that was half way mine, yet how was it possible to explain to my work colleague that I had known about Vampire's, and more of the supernatural realm that he couldn't dare imagine, since high school? _I'd be put in a straight jacket and sent off to an asylum for general insanity, _my thoughts retorted.

For once in the years since I'd been away from Forks, I wanted the Cullen's to show up, to save me and take me home – to somewhere I belonged, but I wasn't one of them now and with all the work I had done to protect them, it would be worth nothing if they materialized.

"Bella, I swear I didn't tell them anything that gave them the potential to hurt you," Neville breaks through the haze of my reverie. I shake away the pressure from behind my eyes, unwilling to let myself cry out all of the injustice of the world. "I told them that you came from a small town in Washington, you taught English Literature" – a sudden thud from upstairs conceals his words briefly, it sends spasms vibrating through the floor – "you had good friends in London and lived in the city. They knew all of that though," he lists, as though he was rehearsing what he'd been taught to say.

A bad feeling rose up in my stomach. Sympathy steadied my words, but haste brewed behind them. "Did you tell them about Tessa? I need to know."

"Teresa Rosenberg has nothing to do with my exchange," he replied quite frankly that I was satisfied by the confusion he was obviously experiencing over my question. His worn face was illuminated swiftly by a fast sweep of artificial light and I saw the raw circles underneath his eyes – tiredness, or was it the manic hunger that was setting it? I could see that he was sick of fighting my interrogation and just wanted to lie and sleep, and perhaps never wake up.

He pulls his legs out from underneath him and rubbed at his kneecaps, as if the motion swept away everything he had done. "They asked about the strange student," his voice sounds defeated. So hollow that something inside of me twists violently.

My heart clenches into a painful fist in my chest. "Which student?"

"The dark, brooding one? Cullen, I think. I told them that I believed you knew him, or had previously encountered him before."

Neville sounded generally intrigued and then something snapped into place – a missing piece. "You signed him onto my class, didn't you?" I accused, pointing fingers. "They told you to allow him into my class for a reason, and you did it! Like a puppy on a lease." If Neville knew how badly a storm raged on inside of me, he would be glad of the chains that kept me grounded. I could even feel the fury tingling in my fingertips, down to my toes – my muscles live with it.

"Bella," Neville reaches over and I feel oily fingers slid against my wrist. It's a sickly feeling.

I snap my hand back, cradling it to my chest tightly. Everything seemed to spin. "Don't touch me," I hissed acidly. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

He gives a heavy moan, clutching at his stomach while grunting in pain. I could see the tendons in his hands white and stretched over his skin like spider webs and my fury dissipated. I stretched over as far as possible, worry creasing my brow. "Neville," I prodded, nudging him in the shin with the heel of my foot. "Are you alright? I'm sorry," something heavy fell against the floor above us, startling me until I had to whimper to cover the scream that was built in my throat.

"Bella," Neville is urgent; his pupils are enlarged and sweat is dripping from his chin now. His fingers are like talons gripping me just below the elbow, clutching the bone. I try to thrash at him, the mere sight of his face frightening me, but his vice-like grip remains. "I'm dying, Bella, I don't have much time. You must escape, leave me here. I've done no good, I'm no good," his words begin to slur, eyes rolling sickeningly in their sockets. I dry retch at the sight.

"You're not worthless, Neville," I'm grasping his jaw between tight fingers now, directing his eyes until their drilling into mine. His temperature is flaring against my touch. "Listen to me; you're going to survive and then you can go home to your family – your wife and daughters. I swear."

He relaxes against me and for a moment I think he's dead, and then he flinches – elbow making a vile noise as it crunches against the stone wall. The white's of his eyes return, but only thinly. "I don't have long, Bella, but promise me you'll make sure my family is safe."

"Don't be silly, you'll be fine –"

Relaxing back into his chains, Neville gives a heavy sigh of relief. The steady beat of noise from upstairs is becoming louder until it shakes the whole room. Neville watches with observant eyes as the ceiling seemed to bulge with the weight of extra bodies above. "I don't expect you to forgive me," he breathes shallowly. "I want you to know that what I did was incredibly selfish of me – taking a Vampire's venom so I could live past my expiration date! - And that it was extremely immoral, and wrong. I've brought you into a world that's dark and menacing, and I could get you killed from that. I'm hoping I can make it up to you."

"It's done now, Neville. Don't feel you have to repent for your mistakes-" He raises a finger to his lips, cutting my words off sharply and they dissipate into the air solemnly.

I hear something scrap across the flooring – thick and metallic. I have to grit my teeth tightly as the sound resembles the dragging of fingernails down a chalk board. It slither's closer toward me, wrapping around my ankles and hands: I pull in on myself quickly, frantically staring into the dark. "Neville," I whisper in an undertone, yet his resilient silence responds to me.

A fervent panic forms in my throat, yet it was rubbed dry so screaming was useless. Finger's pinch at the angle of my hip bone, so bad I can feel the fingernails digging into the skin through my wet, flimsy shirt and a fist jammed against my lips. I can taste skin, sweat and dirt as the knuckles scrap against my chin. A ragged breath tickles the nape of my neck.

"Don't make a sound," the word slurs, it curling around my ear in a wisp that made a shiver shoot down my spine.

I turn, my shoulder blade painfully grinding against the wall, and see Neville. His greasy hair has fallen over his blood-shot eyes, his lips parched and cracked. I could see how hard it was for him holding onto reality, the drag of his Adam's apple in his throat a demanding enough task. His fingers were grasping the chain around my neck, stroking the tender skin where it was red and puckered around the manacle. There was a soft tug and then a musical _ping _that tugged on my heart strings perpetually. _I was free! _

Falling against the floor, my head hit the flooring first. I even felt the chains jabbing into my back, but it was a distant pain. If I could have grasped the floor between my fingers for something materialistic enough to cling to, I would have. Being so open and unbound from the chain left me swelling with a large enough hope to make tears spill over their barrier. For a long time I wasn't aware of Neville's constant rocking back and forth on his knees and the loudening beats from above. It was just darkness – a liberating shroud that set my heart on edge.

"Bella," the voice rouses me from my sleep-like state. My eyes flicker, lashes brushing away the streaks of tears that I had shed. "You should be prepared."

"What for exactly?" My question is dry and cracked, sounding nothing like I intended at all.

Then I see the glint of sharpened steel held in his fisted hand, his palm brushing the blade resolutely as if he'd made up his mind. "I'm going to be a distraction, and then you will escape," he says. He slashes the blade through the air a few times, the flash of its cutting edge frighteningly close to me.

"What about you?" I ask, pulling myself up onto my elbows. I stretch my legs which grind together like mechanical gears that hadn't been in working order for a while; the muscles taut strips of sinewy wire that were coiled like gnarled roots. Being chained for so long had made my body unknown to regular movement – it hurt to even sit up for a while.

Neville stood on two legs confidentially, feet planted firmly and knife clenched so forcefully I imagined blood seeping down the full length of his arm, dripping from the crook of his elbow. "I told you, I'm playing distraction." Then he slashed his palm, beads of red blood pooling in the dip of his hand.

A woozy feeling filled the pit in my stomach, the muscles of my chest clenching together in terror. It was so bad I felt my rib cage tighten around my most vital organs. "Don't do anything stupid, Neville."

"Come along," the expression on his face is a void. Empty. He walks toward the stairs leading upstairs and starts to climb them before looking down at me, something like affection burning deep in his eyes before being replaced with that manic, white less manifestation. He points to a small corner at the base of the stairs with the tip of the blade, "Hide there, and don't come out until I shout of you to run. Understand me?"

"Yes," my words are shaky with a weakness that makes me knee's knock together.

His actions from now on are erratic, spasms rocking his body as if he'll fall down at any time, and never rise again, but he fights it continually. I scramble to two legs – shaky ones if that – and grapple myself to the dark crevice, the feeling of the stable concrete wall behind me comforting. I sink down to my knee's knowing what is coming next. But something inside of me blazes with a fervent heat, it rising up my neck until a heat caresses my throat, face and the back of the skull. I pat around the ground and find a sharp piece of glass: I try not to think of whose blood stains the edges and grasp it like a weapon in the shadows.

"Ready?" I nod from a distance, but he notices. Holding onto the steel railing, he steadies himself and his head bows low to the ground for an isolated moment. Then he rises with eyes ablaze with an obvious determination to do some good, spine iron stiff. Putting his hands to his mouth to amplify his voice, he shouts, "Vamp's I'm free, come and get me!"

I feel my heart contract and I take in the deepest breath of my life just as the door to the basement flings itself open, the room suddenly vibrating with – what was that? Music? I have to fight with myself to keep myself concealed in the shadows, but a part of me struggled to acknowledge that Neville is alone with whoever found them. "How did you get free, blood bag?"

_It's Jude! _Fear makes my limbs lucid and I clutch the glass until I draw blood. _Neville is facing Jude!_

"Don't insult me, leech," Neville barks a cruel laughter. "Release me."

I hear the railings creak above me, as if his weight is leant against them. "Why should I? You're just a lowly human," he snarls, snapping his teeth. I could imagine his fangs just scraping an inch away from Neville's neck.

"I know Devlin, we made a deal. He would release me for information on the girl," my throat closes as he mentions me. I was just crossing my finger's Jude wasn't scanning the surroundings for my sudden appearance. If he knew I wasn't chained up, he'd kill Neville, and find me. _Torture me more_, my mind reminds me bitterly. "I wish to see him."

Jude picks at his nails with a bored expression, while surveying them for dirt. "Why then, _human_, did he have you tortured and almost killed if you made a deal?" he spits with such ferocity I feel like jumping at him myself.

"If you will not let me pass to see him, I will make you move." His voice didn't shake, even when I realized what Neville's true intent was. I stood up, still clinging to the shadows like paint, but moved closer toward to the base of the stairs. My heart had leapt into my throat, its throbbing pulse pounding in my ears.

He takes a step closer to Neville, I can hear it. I can even taste the fear that was dissolved in the air. Face to face, they were. "What you going to do? Stake me?" he mocks, mimicking with his hands a stake being forced into his heart. "You'll die before you get a chance."

"Better me, than Bella who has a chance to escape," Neville replies in a soothing, intimidating tone.

Jude's head whips toward the central pillar and the empty manacle that once clung to my neck. Fury boils just underneath his skin, his fists clenched. "You're dead meat," he roars.

The clash of cold undead flesh against living makes a sickening crunch and I heard Neville being slammed against a wall, a few bones breaking underneath the impact. He stands straight up, unaware of the pain and the uneven angel of his right arm, and lunges toward Jude – Did having the Vampire venom in your blood stream stop you from feeling all pain besides the withdrawal symptoms?

I pull myself from the shadows to see Jude tackling Neville from behind, his fangs grazing his neck – droplets of blood dripping from his teeth onto his white lips. Jude licked at the blood, his eyes suddenly jet black: hungry. Flipping him over his shoulders, Neville fell to his back – his spine curling at the impact, yet he was unaware of the pain that ripped through his body. His fingertips were brushing the hilt of the blade; however his arms were pinned to the stairs by Jude. His head turned to the side and Neville's eyes met mine – those deep and affectionate eyes, not the manic venom-crazed ones I had grown used to seeing, and shook his head as if to tell me to stay put. My mind was made up in that moment.

"Hey, parasite!" I half-screamed, launching myself up the stairs and sliding the sharp edge of the glass across Jude's back. He howled and swiped away Neville with a kick of his foot. Blood wept from a thin line just below his shoulder blades, the muscles underneath shifting in sickening patterns.

"You little bitch," he roared. "You'll pay for that!"

His large hands wrapped what felt like countless times around my neck, pinning me up against the wall until my feet dangled above the floor. Not even my toes brushed the floor. Black spots started to cover my vision as Jude shook me violently – my finger's clawed at his arms, but too little avail.

It was all a little sudden but Jude's face creased in pain for a moment and then the tip of something grazed my knee. I fell straight to floor, retching as I tried to pull in as much air as possible. Then I saw it: the tip of Neville's knife protruding from Jude's abdomen, a red stain filling the perimeter of his white T-shirt. Jude was enraged – his face even paler than vampire pale. Swallowing down the twisting pain, as if nothing happened, Jude reaches around his back and pulls out the dagger. He holds it in his hand, twisting it side to side to refract the light from the open door and then licks it. I have to bite back the revulsion that comes from my throat and clench it between my teeth; otherwise I was afraid I'd be sick.

"Hmm…tastes like human," he coo's, licking his damp lips. "I like it."

Jude turns on Neville, pinning him to the floor once more by the shoulders. Neville seems to relax and give in, as if he knows what is about to happen. He mouths the one word on his lips, but it never reaches me in time: _run_, before Jude sinks his fangs into his neck. It's a disgusting sight – Jude clinging to Neville's already lifeless body tightly, his own convulsing in the pleasure of having blood flow through his own vacant veins. Hatred boils down to my core – abhorrence to vampires, to anything supernatural, to anything that could hurt my friends – and as quick as a cobra, I reach for Neville's knife and plunge it into his back once more, twisting it for emphasis.

It drops to the floor, blood staining my hands and wrists. I can even see the tinge of vampire venom mixed with it. "Get off my friend, you bastard," I shout, letting every emotion I've felt sink deep into my words until they were razor sharp, and cut deeply.

His face turns to me, a fervent desire to rip my throat out simmering in his eyes. Blood drips from between his lips, dripping down his neck until it either stained his T-shirt, or ran down his chest. I know it's coming, but I don't care: he pins me to the wall, grinding his body sickeningly against mine and his fangs hover just over my neck.

"Don't worry," he croons, lips skimming just underneath my ear leaving a trail of Neville's blood behind on my neck. His fingertips trace over the jugular vein in my neck. "I'll take good care of you. We'll have fun, little girl." Then he sinks his fangs down.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I never feel it. Is this what it felt like? Like I was floating, and light? Never chained down, but to be free? Then something collapsed against my feet and I snapped back to reality – lying next to me was Jude's lifeless body, and his severed head was rolling down the stairs to land with a stomach-turning _thud _on the floor below.

Neville was panting heavily, blood staining everywhere. He sank down the wall to land besides me, the blade slipping from his fingers. I bent down eagerly, grasping his cheeks and rousing him as his eyes were closing, head lolling to the side in death. "Neville," I shout, shaking him. "Neville, you're going to be alright, just hang on."

"Dying…" he breathed, a sudden convulsion causing him to spurt blood. "Leave me…"

"Never," I hesitated, ripping a piece of my T-shirt and pressing it tightly against his neck wound. I was a wreck – I felt like just collapsing but I had to keep it together.

A dead, pale hand gripped the neckline of my top, pulling me close. I almost screamed until I noticed it was Neville, his numb lips mumbling silent words. "Bella," he moaned, the life draining from him. "There's no hope. Leave me; tell my family I loved them. Take this," he pushed the blade toward me and I took it in trembling fingers. "Protect yourself and escape. Go. Now!" Then his fingers loosened their grip and his eyes became blank – his whole body was still as he became part of the silent dead.

If circumstances were normal I would have stayed and grieved, however I closed his blank eyes using my fingers, grasped the blade tightly in my fist and walked up the steps toward the door. "I will do you proud, Neville. You were a brave man," I told the dark then stepped through the door.

Into a nightclub? I couldn't believe my eyes. I had to blink and rub at them to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me, but no it was a nightclub. Yet it had been entirely transformed: the windows had been blacked out, strobe lights dancing around the room blindingly, the walls painted black and the bar was more active than ever. Upon the now-active dance floor, there was a flood of teenagers all dressed in gothic outfits – a torrent of skulls, black material, thick clucky boots and fish-net tights. They didn't even look like they were dancing, but rather throwing their head back and forth as if smashing it against a wall and swooping to the floor to pick up a lost eye contact.

At that moment, one of the vampire's she had seen once ducked into view. Bella stepped out of sight into a throng of teenagers. One with wild black hair gelled up in spikes and snake-bites smiled at her, "Cool costume," he called. Other's joined in and I was grateful for the protective cover they offered by something nagged at me – what were a group of teenagers going in a place that was full of vampire's? Did they know exactly how much danger they were in? It all seemed so wrong. I decided it wasn't safe to escape while vampire eyes would be on the exit, so I mingled within the crowds – avoiding any gazes that looked hungry, or even remotely giving off signs of vampirism.

Sometime during my hide-and-seek plan, I slipped into the bathroom. I was glad it was empty and headed toward the red sinks and was horrified by what I saw – half-ripped clothing that was still wet and clung to my skin (I was glad it was mostly black so I fitting in with the Goth crowd outside) bruises and cuts crisscrossing everywhere from my legs to the dip in my neck, a red band around my neck where I've been manacled and almost choked to death and blood smearing my hands and neck. Amongst all that my face was that of a walking zombie – I even felt a few broken ribs when I checked for any internal damage. Just as I tried to patch myself up as best as possible – scrubbing my fingers until they were rubbed raw to rid myself of the blood lodged under my nails – two girls walked inside. They stopped instantly and stared at me wide-eyed.

"That's an awesome outfit," a small girl says. Her hair was in two thick ponytails, a red tutu spanning from her hips and a corset set around her chest – spilling cleavage I didn't want to see. "How did you get the blood so realistic?" she asks, re-doing her black lipstick.

"It's not fa-" I stopped instantly. "I know a place," I correct myself, the running of the water a comfort to me.

The other girl wasn't as dark with her outfit: dark jeans and a purple T-shirt with a slogan on I couldn't read, and her eyes were rimmed thickly with black eyeliner. She was applying more rice-colour powder to her face when she spoke, "The guy who runs this place keeps looking at you, Hilary."

"You mean the Devlin guy?" My chest clenched and I watch the girls closely through narrowed eyes. They had no idea how dangerous Devlin was – they could even get killed being here?

"Yeh. I hear he's looking for some girls to stay back tonight, to audition for something. No-one knows what it is. I think I'm gonna stay for it," she chatters on.

I left the bathroom feeling sick. I wanted to help any of the girls that ended up staying back later – to keep them from being killed – yet I had to escape first. Perhaps I could get the police? But what then; I'll tell them supernatural vampires were properly going to kill and drain those poor girls? No, I'd come back with help – and I knew exactly were to get it.

As soon as the club showed signs of finishing for the night, I edged off the end of the stage – close enough that I could see a vampire I noticed: dark skin the colour of rich chocolate, eyes the colour of burning embers and wearing just a pair of black tightly fitting jeans and a tux coat, his bare chest revealed – I peeled away from the crowd as quickly as possible and shot up the stairs to the entrance, following some straggling teenagers who were leaving.

The sound of my feet against the steps sent shocks shooting up my spine – they were tingles of anticipation, not one's of fear. I had outpaced that: my fear was nothing compared with my desire to escape into the cool, fresh air of the night.

There was a narrow street beyond, with rows of large bins and warehouses lining either side. The smell of the open air hit me in the face like a blow – it had been so long since I'd breathed outside air, rather than the stench of blood, death and decay. The sky was dark, the street lit by one streetlamp, and smudges of fog were seen in the distance. In the nearby streets I could hear people walking on the pavement, the chatter of social circles and the opening bars and late restaurants; however her street was empty except for a woman now leaning against the lamppost, surveying her fingernails in the light.

I dashed toward her, catching her wrist. "Please, can you help me? I've been held capt-"

The woman looked at her with cold, jet black eyes.

Stifling a scream, my knee's felt like half-melted candle wax. Her face was as waxy pale as any of the other's, those lusting black eyes and the way she smiled, revealing the tip of her fangs. Wild red hair hung loosely around her shoulders and she was wearing the most scantly outfit I could think of, all containing black lace.

I turned to run, but it was already too late.

She dragged me back into the nightclub kicking and screaming, yet no-one seemed to pay attention to my pleas for help. They just kept walking forward; eyes cast down as if they may never rise from the floor again with blank expressions on their face. Pulling me down the stairs, I tripped and fell to my knees – the flooring scraping away the skin from my kneecaps as I was pulled along unmercifully.

"You see, we found the body of our pet and Jude," she hissed, dragging me onto shaky feet by my elbow until my face was inches away from her's. "I knew you'd try to escape and waited for you. Then I found you!"

"Let me go you parasitic bitch," I shouted, pulling at her grasp but it only made the pain worse.

The place was bare except for a few vampires' that seemed to be mourning the loss of so many warm blooded bodies grinding together on the dance floor. There wasn't even a sign of the group of girls that Devlin wanted to stay behind – I crossed my fingers in silent pray that they had forgotten this horrid business and hurried home. Yet of course Devlin lingered, sitting atop a mahogany throne, his vampire sentry, Laurent, leaning over the table as if they were in whispers. Of course there was no need for whispers, vampires could hear from such long distances it wasn't required. They were playing cards.

The red-headed leech smacked her lips as she thrust me toward them. "Zip it and look what I found from the snack machine."

"-we need them transported to the Warehouse, and quickly. Without delay this time," Devlin raised his sharp eyes from cards fanned out in his hand, his conversation cut short. For a moment I saw a quick flicker of familiarity between him and another face - whose was it? – But I shook it away. "So you have decided to join us again, Isabella?"

"You killed my friend," I spat. If she hadn't locked my wrists together, I would have launched across the table toward him. "It's your fault he's dead."

Devlin plucked a card out and slapped it down on the table top. The King of Hearts, to be exact. A long, cruel smile spread across his face, "He chose his fate, and I simply directed him."

I ground my teeth together, sick of being preyed upon like some weak sub-species. "You led him to his doom you over-rated Lestat!"

"I do not tolerate foolish retorts," Devlin growls, having pounced from his seat at the card table to be so close I could feel his breath against my face. Then he stilled, his face once again becoming a mask of calm. He traces a fingernail across my cheek; I could feel it digging into the skin. "Isabella," he breathes, his lips just skimming my own, fingers threaded in my hair. I swallowed the lump down in my throat. "You teach English Literature, don't you?"

I find it a strange question to be asked, but I nod in agreement. Devlin gives a brief wink to the red head and my hands are free. I rub at the raw skin reflexively. From the corner of my eye I can see the way she looks at him – in complete and utter adoration. She and Devlin? The idea of a vampire romance made bile rise in my throat.

"Very good, Victoria," he pecks her on the cheek, but even that subtle of a gesture looked sickening. He then turned back to me, "Take the next card from the desk, Isabella," he commands.

I turn to the table, Laurent flexing his fingers underneath the desk as if he were ready to snap my neck like a twig if I tired anything. I picked up the next card: The Joker.

"Are you familiar with Lewis Carol's Alice in Wonderland?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. Victoria is rubbing her hands up and down his hips, hooking her fingers through the waistband of his jeans.

I felt physically capable of retching up at their feet. "I do," my chin raised stubbornly.

A card suddenly appeared from his sleeve and was held up in the air between two fingers. The King of Hearts. "They say the Joker is also known as the Knave. Do you know of the relationship between the Knave and the King of Hearts, Isabella? I wish you to enlighten me."

"During Alice in Wonderland, the Knave stole and as the Queen of Hearts is speaking during his trail, the viscous and vindictive side of the King of Hearts is revealed, this is mostly by interrogating the Queen's servant and threatening the Mad Hatter," I say.

"Exactly," he flicks the card around in his grasp. "Isabella, I am warning you now. You killed one of my men and your friend paid for your mistake. If you should _ever_ try to escape again, it will be your head on a platter, _do you understand_?" The rage in his voice is unmistakable; it rings in my ears until it reaches my heart, which is pounding against my battered ribcage propelling waves of agony to hit me.

I can barely stand by the time by the time Devlin has retrieved his firm, yet composed, tone after such a ruffled demonstration. He's back to playing cards when he finally speaks, "Take her back downstairs, Victoria, and make sure she doesn't escape again."

Her eyes shine as if she gains pleasure from doing Devlin's bidding. Grabbing my upper arm she hauls me back down into the basement without a second thought, dragging me back down into the darkness. I didn't even have the will to protest and try and fight it, I just absorbed the fact that I properly wasn't ever going to get out of this. The chain clicked back into place around my neck before I could look at her. "There you go, _precious_, you'll be very comfortable," she sneered.

I give a quick scan of the stairs were Neville and Jude's bodies were once slumped, but now there's nothing to even signal a slight struggle. Something like guilt pools in my stomach. Victoria dances toward the stairs with a cat-like grace, standing by the door and leaning in just before it shuts on me, "Enjoy the time you have with your cellmates."

"What?" I'm just about to croak out the question but I already see them. Four girls are chained to a pillar close to mine in a similar fashion, yet their glances are too distant. To faraway. One mumbles something, but it comes out in a string of gurgles and hiccups. _Their drugged, _my head screams.

Then the door closes and were plunged into darkness.


	8. Save My Soul

**Silhouette of a Stranger**

**Summary:**

_Isabella Swan has always held a grudge against Edward after Volterra. Now she teaches English Literature at the London University. But, what happens to her plan to avoid vampires and the Cullen's when an unexpected guest arrives._

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Stephanie Meyer; all characters in this story are of her creation, with exceptions of Tessa, Jack, Neville, Devlin and Duncan.**

**With my usual thanks to my beta army and my Twitter critics for your genuine praise and demands that I kick day-dreaming of what to write, but do it. You really helped me through a hard time when I had little inspiration and time to write. **

**Chapter Eight: Save My Soul **

**CPOV**

"You really ought to perfect your lock picking skills, Carlisle," Eleazer states complacently, a silent statue of wisdom staring into the dark windows of the silent apartments.

It's past midnight and the moon hangs in the sky like the crest of a silver jewel. It illuminates everything with an eerie white glow. I pick at the locks with determination, twisting and turning until it came undone in my hands. I look at Eleazer with a sideways glance, "It's not a skill I wish to perfect, dear friend," I reply softly.

"Perfecting a skill is different from mastering one, Carlisle," a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips as he strides to stand by my side. His crown of brunette hair frames his face is light curls in the shivering torrent of wind. "Are you ready?" he asks, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"I am," I breathe, letting my shoulders relax from the tension that's been building within them since I left the house. They slump down until my shirt feels once again slack against my chest. I turn toward my old friend, "Did you find the information?"

Eleazer's eyes are downcast and I know he wishes he were back with the Volturi, with Carmen, but they snap back to focus on me soon after. Weakness was not the sort of emotion Eleazer worked to exercise regularly. "The Volturi's library is extensive and I found some information that may ease your worries, however there is also some worrying fact's."

"Like what?" I have to try hard to keep my voice level.

"Old friend, let's get inside before we are spotted by these reluctant neighbors. I don't wish to be harassed by human officer's tonight, I believe we have enough drama to attend to," he chuckles light-hearted, guiding us inside with a wave of his hand.

The interior of Isabella's apartment is dark, shadows clinging to the walls as if they've never seen light in days. Everything is silent; not even a creak from furniture, a drip from a leaky pipe or the groan of the floorboards as I stepped on them. It was to quiet.

I walked toward the closed curtains and flung them open. Dust peppered the air and coated the near-by items in a thin layer. Even with the dim brightness of the moonlight, the room seemed to shudder at the sudden relief of finally being flooded with light.

I cover my eyes with a free hand, blinking at the momentary pressure at the backs of my eyes. "No-one has been here for a while," I felt useless stating the obvious, yet something that make the hairs at the nape of my neck stand up told me that were was a subtle difference to Isabella's apartment.

"Just because of the emptiness of her apartment, does not relate to kidnap, Carlisle," Eleazer retorts, pacing the room with wide eyes.

Eleazer was the sort of vampire that was impressed by the tinkering of humans. Anything that was remotely interesting to him caught his attention, and he never diverged from it – except for Carmen. Currently he was observing a small photograph on the mantelpiece, its frame a little worn and broken at one side. It was practical of him, considering Eleazer had never seen Isabella in person, just her "decoy."

I follow his gaze, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of her. "I believe, Eleazer; that even after her experience with Vampire's in Fork's, Isabella would never leave without an excuse. She understood fully the consequences of knowing of us," I talk of an unconscious order, every word I say an extension of the praise I hold for Isabella. She was never capable of any wrong.

"I understand," he holds the photograph in his hands with delicate fingers, observing it with the curious eyes of an analyst. "But you cannot let your feelings for this girl overrule your judgment, Carlisle. It would not be wise to do so."

"I care for Isabella, that is all," I say, my eyes never straying from the photograph that lies within Eleazer's grasp. I fear for its protection as if it were Isabella herself.

Eleazer hands me the frame with the enclosed photo as if he has grew weary of looking at such a human face, yet his expression remains stern. "The supervision of this girl you have taken upon yourself will be your ruin, Carlisle. Your attention to her health and protection are of a compassionate nature, as you say, but I know that it will turn into passion and a fascination you cannot stray from," he lectures. He puts a hand on my wrist comfortingly. "I only care for your safety, Carlisle."

"I know you do, dear friend," I respond attentively. His words had not only sparked my amusement, but my own inquisitiveness which made me think as to would I be-able to hide my caring feelings for Isabella if we were ever to meet? Was I to keep my distance forever? A feeling of something like panic pooled deep in my stomach.

I run my finger over the photograph gently, as if it would crumble underneath my fingertips. The likeness was startling and it made the hairs on my arms stick up. Sitting in the photograph was Charlie Swan – the Chief of Police back in Washington – and he was smiling as he wrapped his arm around a young girl of eighteen. She had that waterfall of mahogany hair that fell beyond her waist and crowned around her heart-shaped face, the softest chocolate brown eyes that were so full of warmth and love, soft cheekbones curved into a smile that dipped towards them slanted pink lips and down into the curve of her pale neck. Isabella was grinning and happy in the photograph.

Guilt crashed over me when I think of how that smile no long lingered once we left Forks – the silent stillness of her face that I would see from the bushes, how rigid and stiff her movements were as if she no longer had the will to move through life and those deep eyes that were a void of blankness. It made my heart clench into a fist.

Placing the photograph back with gentle fingers on the shelf, Eleazer was shifting through a pile of discarded papers on her desk. He looked deep in thought, "I even called after Isabella's friend, Teresa Danvers's, and they say she took an immediate absence."

"Although interesting," eyes still cast down at the documents, never straying far enough for me to observe the somberness in them. "I still believe it insufficient information to acknowledge Miss Swan has been abducted."

"What do you believe to be sufficient evidence, Eleazer?" I ask as I search through the bookcase.

Eleazer stills and draws something from his jacket: it's a small, leather-bound book the size of a pocket bible, its papers yellowing as if it were aging from rust. I took it from him feeling like it may crumble in my light grasp at any moment. Light, feathered writing glimmered across the cover: _Vampires of the Ages. _I turn toward my friend, the expression on his lips suddenly readable. "You can't possibly mean that, Eleazer. It would be suicide."

"I'm afraid Isabella is amongst some of the most influential and powerful vampire's we have seen," the bluntness in his voice is sharp and it makes a shiver crawl over my skin. "She has little luck while being associated with a Noel."

The book in my hand felt so blasphemous and cruel I had to withhold the temptation to crush it between the palms of my hands – to erase whatever evidence there was of Isabella being unsafe. I threw my fist against the wall, a spider web of cracks left behind. "I will not abandon her to the consequences of our own folly, Eleazer."

According to the book and it was well known – although my temporary flare of temper had purged it from my thoughts – the Noel brothers were the most prominent vampire's within the century in relation to the seduction of mortal women. They were renowned for driving their victims wild with a raw desire before they claimed their prizes – and ultimately drinking those innocent women dry. The two Noel collaborators, Duncan and Devlin, were the worst of the heap of our kind that worked to seduce.

The thought of Isabella along with one of the Noel males make me cross the line – anger raced through me like a coarse stream of flaring fury I couldn't control. I felt my muscles bunch together so tightly that my shirt felt too tight, too restricted. Adrenaline was like a live current in my veins.

Strong fingers wrap around my arm and he draw it away from another punch, "Calm, Carlisle," he hisses. "If you let your anger continue, we will surely get no-where."

"Of course, excuse my actions." I look my friend in the eyes and his grip is removed as a mask of calm is pulled loosely over the turmoil that brews deep within. "You said you had some good news too."

Eleazer clasps his hands together as if to signal his deep thought. "It is recorded that one of the Noel males left the partnership a few hundred years ago, apparently he was sick of the ill use of women and left."

"Do you have any hint of his location?" The Noel males were anything but subtle, and if it were indeed truth that one left there was surely a massacre left in his trail – if one left, the other would go half mad with rage and it was presumed to go on a spree of seduction and ruthless killing.

"The last they were seen was in Russia," he extends his hand and reaches for the book, which I give up quickly so I could rid myself of any notion of ever possessing it.

"Which one left?" I question as I skim through the layers of dust on hazardously stacked books.

"We believe it to be Duncan," Eleazer sidesteps the columns of books with major spinal damage and flicks a strand of hair back in vexation. "I had Carmen and Edward looking into it more before I left after your phone call."

Edward had been residing with the Volturi for the past few years and it had pained me watching him become less intimidated by their threatening ways – his once favorable devotion to adopting a new lifestyle becoming peppered with vice and a malevolence that possessed his spirit like an ethereal demon.

_He also stays there to ensure the safety of the girl_, the inner portion of my mind reminds me. Clarity sets in as I notice my folly in not acknowledging her dangerous position in this game. "How is my son faring?" my gaze continues to scrutinize the bookshelf. It was row after row of colourful spines against the dull wood of the shelves.

"I had to beg with him to stay in Volterra," Eleazer sweeps toward the window, the pale moonlight illuminating him like a phantom. "After seeing her in London it's killing him to leave her alone. I had to remind him of the girl's protection details."

"Edward will never restrain himself when it concern's Isabella," I sigh heavily, my breath encouraging a swirl of dust to rise in the air.

A particular blue cover brings familiarity to mind and I caress its bound pages, a thousand silent words waiting to be read. "Do you not blame him, Carlisle? He left Isabella to her fate."

"It is not my place to judge my son, if either the consequences of his actions are of good natured choice, or by a fault in design." I can acknowledge Eleazer's presence watching my actions, but I never raise my head or attention.

Soft fingertip marks are brushed into the spine of the poetry book, dust accumulating around the pressed prints. Easing it slowly away from its tight slot, the gilded lettering is bright and bold. A ray of light against a sky of dark, indecent memories. _The Collected Poems of Thomas Hardy, _the cover read. I stroke the lettering with a feather-like touch, as if to find any trace of its owner's finger's on its pages.

I turned the small lamp on, light pooling around my feet, not knowing how distracted I was. Eleazer's eyes never strayed from beyond the window, watching the tree's like something would jump out of them in the dim light of the streetlamps. 

Opening the cover of the book the pages smelt like sunlight, spoken words and new ink. One page was dog-eyed and I flicked through them until it rested itself half-way through the book. A small star had been sketched by the title of the poem: _THE BALLET_. I remembered blood, stitches and one book all in one moment of recognizing the title.

The eye of the needle was clenched between the pads of my fingertips; my eyes trained on the way it weaved through the skin – tightening it as it's pulled together. The arm is poised in strength, the muscles tight, not even a sign of trembling as I knit her skin back together. Nausea brought an unnatural heat to her flushed cheekbones. Scissors cut the thread that connects myself and Isabella, it dangling lonesome from between my fingers. "All finished," I announce, already clearing away the mess of medical equipment from the desk.

She hops away, her eyes fervent with the heat that crawls up her neck. Something thuds to the floor and she bends to capture it in her hands, the arch of her pale neck dipping toward the floor. She eyes me curiously, fingertips curling around the pages as if she could pull the words toward herself. "Thomas Hardy was a brilliant poet," she says, never breaking her gaze with me.

"I always thought of his poetry as very symbolic of the strangest and finest celebrations of life." I notice the way the book fits into the cup-shape of her laced fingers, the words escaping through their caged structures and dripping from the pages into worthy hands and the way she savored every sound as she recited a poem – "The Ballet" – as if it were her native tongue. "Keep it, Isabella. It is yours to have if you wish it."

Isabella shifts her eyes to the burning mop of tissues on the desk, the way the flames curl and wither. "I can't, Carlisle," she bites her bottom lip. "It is not mine to take."

Thrusting the book in my direction, I catch it and we hold it suspended in the air. Reaching over I pluck her fingers from the cover, placed them together and put the book atop her hands. She hugs it to her chest reflexively like it was a child to be protected. "It is yours, Isabella."

"Carlisle –" I break from the reverie like a wounded child, the memories still stirring in my head – they were the happiest of my moments of relieving the past: Edward was happy with Isabella, we were all exultant and our movements gave nothing of consequence. Nowadays, nothing was attempted without value and death was a result we were sanctioned to observe. It was as if death had crept up on us, snatched away what we held dear and plummeted us into a pit of despair – where your only diversion were old scraps of memories and the glowing presence of what I felt so protective over.

Even if I tried to deny it, Isabella had brought me back to life, like a flower growing and raising from frozen ground amongst all indifference that it would never blossom again.

Eleazer's brows draw together and his eyes never leave me, a silent sympathy on his face. "Perhaps we may find something of more interest at her office, my old friend. It seems this apartment is nothing but emptiness and," he scans the book gripped between white fingers. "And objects of her occupation."

"I agree, we will leave immediately." Eleazer drew open the door swiftly, a cold air brushing into the room and crawling across the floor like a lurking mist. He sweeps outside just as quick, the ruffle of clothes a nonchalant hum to the added buzz of nocturnal cicadas.

Spinning on the heels of my feet, I scan the ominous quiet of Isabella's apartment once more. I draw the curtains to a close, standing still for a moment holding the material within a tight grasp, letting the darkness flood the room. If it wasn't for the unnecessary breath that escaped my parted lips, the teeth-grating sound of my shoulder blades grinding together and the scuffling of my foot everything would be returned to the barren and silent landscape it once was.

With the looming shadows of furniture just as chilling as the brisk breeze that made me pull the stiff collar of my shirt up to my neck, I moved away from the closed view from the window and stepped outside the apartment and pulled the door shut. With the lock securely in place, I paced toward Eleazer's zeal to move ahead with Isabella's poetry book tucked under the crook of my arm.

**BPOV**

My breathing sounded nothing like my own. It was warped by the added shallow and notched breathing of the four other girls; all chained a little farther away from me. They were all leaning against the pillar they were manacled to, heads bowed to the ground so the tips of their dark hair brushed the floor.

I wanted to reach toward him, but my fingers didn't stretch that far and my voice didn't seem to reach their silent figures.

In the swathed darkness, regular beats from upstairs shaking the walls, I hook my chained hands together until the raw skin of my wrists brush together. The blood pounding in my veins can be felt between my pressed wrists, ricocheting into the other like an echo.

Pulling my knee's up to my chest until they feel as if they are touching my ribs, I pull my arms around them until I feel my fists are bunched up against the crease underneath my kneecap. My nails bite into the flesh painfully before I shuffle to twist them until they are behind my back. The muscles of my arms protest in throbbing waves of cramp as since being chained they have never been stretched, or extended besides to stroke the bruises that peppered my skin.

Elongating my fingers until I could feel the nails scrap against the fabric of my shirt, trace the curve of my shoulder blades as they rose in a shudder and the length of my spine, I grit my teeth.

The serpentine bow of the dagger protrudes from the waistband of my skirt, the tip occasionally pressing into the skin at the base of my spine, drawing tears of blood. I remember quickly pushing it into the hidden space before Victoria grabbed me, it slitting a thin rip into my shirt but it was enough to conceal the glimmer of the blade. The pads of my fingertips brush the knife edge, as I ignore the feeling of a wet liquid coating itself on my fingers – I imagined it being water, rather than Neville's blood that stained my hand just to pay no attention to the lump that found itself in my throat.

Nipping the tip of the blade between my thumb and middle finger, I draw it from its holding place quietly, but as rapidly as possible. The hilt is the hard part to undo from the waistband, but after some frantic struggling and then calmly extracting it from the tangled threads that caught at its design the dagger clattered to the stone floor. I bite my tongue; my head pressed against my collarbone in defense like someone heard the shattered sound, however the noise was muffled by the hinges of the door opening from above me and the heavy footsteps of a vampire.

Relief shores within me, the knowledge how close I was to getting caught but a fleeting concern, so I pull my arms back around my legs until they rest on my chest, rubbing my sore wrists.

One of the girls is dragged down the stairs by her neck, I can hear the way her heels scrap across the stone and it makes my teeth chatter. She doesn't even seem to be trying to attempt to scramble away, or to wrench away the vampire's claw-like grip at her throat; she just hangs limp like a puppet on strings. Manacles snap back into place around her neck, hands and feet.

The strange thing was that there is no puncture marks in her neck, or anywhere else. Nothing to show that she was being fed on: then why was she dragged upstairs kicking and screaming, then brought back down so subdued and dead-like? Had they fed her more drugs?

With everything back into place, the vampire traces a fingernail in a crescent around the girl's jugular vein as if he were going to slit it open and drink openly. The idea made my stomach want to empty. On the other hand, he pulls something sleek from his pocket – a transparent liquid sloshing inside.

"Won't be long now, my pretties," he croons over his prize winning blood bags. "Soon you'll be taken to the Warehouse and then the preparations can begin."

He pushes his pointed fingernail into the girl's neck, blood starting to well before he plunges the needle into her skin and pushes down on the pressure. The girl's body convulses and then slumps against the wall column, her limbs lucid. The vampire repeats this with the others before crawling toward me. I don't cower away, showing fear only makes their hunger worsen.

"You aren't afraid of me, lassie?" I look him in the eye and shake my head. "Just wait till you get to the Feast of Fools, then you'll be scared."

"I will never be frightened by you," I spit, as his fingers brush away my greasy hair to expose the skin of my neck. I feel sick again, but I force it away – this is not a time to vomit on a vampire's shoes. "Or by your petty festivities."

I feel the needle slide it's self underneath my skin, the muscles tightly coiling as the liquid is administered into my bloodstream. "You will be, doll face. All of the most powerful vampires are congregating to hear the Magister's plans, and you are going to be the entertainment."

His fingers linger on my chin, pulling my face up to his but I pull them away. He smiles cruelly and pats me on the head like a child, "No-one to save you now," before sweeping out of the room.

Once the door shut and our moans of the dawning blackouts were encased within the concrete walls, I shuffled wildly against the chains knowing my time was limited, the drug slowly dragging its way through my veins like a creeping mist. I could feel it making my eye lids heavy, a dull throb echoing at the base of my skull and the ability of movement retreating from the tips of my fingers.

Thoughts were scrambled in my head: words nothing but fragmented memories like shattered mirror shards trying to reflect back the person I once was. My liberation of free movement was about to be snatched away and I was just parking myself on the floor, getting ready to be taken advantage of.

My neck was aching, feeling as if my spine was permanently curled over my shoulders. Stretching it only made the muscles tighten in a stiff response almost like a rusty spring. I would stay awake longer than the other girls who had previously been administered many times with the sedative, so assuming I had at least fifteen minutes I had to escape, and fast. Grasping the knife I twisted it in the lock, listening keenly for the sounds of metal unfastening until the manacle opens around my wrists. I repeat the action around my ankles – uncontrollable tears welled up in my eyes at the feeling of being so unbound.

I held onto those chains, almost like I was pulling them from the wall, as I struggled to stand on two legs: my toes feeling like they were resting on thin air, rather than the hard ground. Quickly sweeping the floor for the dagger, I feel my internal organs drop inside of me like a bowling ball – as if while I was chained down, my insides were pushed up against my diaphragm and now they were released.

Almost like a phantom in the night, I fly toward the other girls looking for signs of consciousness, or even for a living breath escaping them. Two were dead – their jaws slack, teeth almost loose in their sockets so they looked as if they were about to fall out – one was badly knocked out – a head wound oozing blood which trickles down her neck, dripping from her ear lobe – and the other was awake. Her pupils were massive looking like they could expand beyond the eye.

I free her, but as she looks at me from under clumped eyelashes I instantly know something is desperately wrong. Bitten fingernails, no bite marks on her neck, her eyes the size of golf balls and her skin taut over wiry muscles that were bent at harmful angles. Vampire blood, my mind registered, and she's loyal to them! But before I can snap the manacles back into place she's on her feet, bones cracking in horrible squeals like the grinds of machinery and knocked the dagger from my hand. "I've had vampire blood, lots of it," I lie, licking my lips to emphasize my point.

"Me too, the Cullen's blood is yummy," the words sparked such a rising fury in me I didn't recognize that she may have been playing me, but I was too late and my hand connects with her cheek like metal striking metal.

She almost topples to the floor, but steadies herself. Rubbing at the corner of her lips, at the base of her cheek were a bruise was forming, she throws back a punch at me. I almost fall too and I can feel blood trickling from my mouth, dripping from my chin. She gives a manic laughter before pushing me to the ground, I break my fall by ducking and rolling away, but a flare of shattering pain occurs in my shoulder as it crunches against the floor. Standing, she pushes me against the wall as I trip against the leg of one of the dead girls. Just feeling the dead girl's skin slide against mine makes me want to vomit, the coldness of her touch like a snake slithering against me.

I move as fast as a striking cobra as she aims for another punch and find myself behind her, as she turns around I slam my fist against her face and grasping a handful of her hair, pushing her head against the wall – I could feel and hear the sickening collapse of her skull, but she continues to fight back – and wrap my arm around her neck to try and collapse her breathing until she's unconscious.

Breaking free by gripping her nails deep into the flesh of my arm, our arms are locked together in a death grip as we fall against the wall. Some punches to the chest and the splinter of a few ribs later, I kick her squarely in the stomach and she falls to the ground.

I was waiting for her to scream "stop!" and try to clutch the muscles in her stomach as if to cease the pain, but she never failed to stop. The vampire venom within her ceased all pain, and she would fight until her broken and beaten body lay dead on the floor. Something I didn't want to see.

As her nails scrap across the ground with a deafening squeal, like a child's cry of hatred, as she tries to pull herself to her knee's I jump onto her and clamp my thighs tight against her arms so she can't move, and repeatedly shake her violently by the shoulders, fingernails drawing blood.

We roll over so I'm on my back and we hold each other in a vice-like grip by each other's throats, my airways being cut off and her blood saturating my clothes and skin. It's almost like a rocking motion as she pulls back and then my head is slammed back against the ground – I had temporarily forgotten about the drug I had been given, but now I felt my legs go still and black spots were crawling across my vision. I would die if I didn't end this now.

Turning my face to the side I saw the shard of glass I had used when Neville was fighting Jude, I reached over as I felt myself leaving my body. Fingertips brushed the sharp edge, but as I tried to reach it my throat was clamped closed even further and I had to return to scrapping at her grip on my neck. When I had a second chance, I gripped it tightly and swiped it across her face and she fell back screaming, her blood falling against my face like burning acid.

Noises like loud thumps echo from upstairs like people being thrown against the floor, or was it another disco like the one the night before? All I am aware of is the girl twitching besides me, death clinging to her like a shadow.

I feel the sleeping drugs blacken my vision and thud at my temples before it makes all my bones clatter together like an echoing vibration as I lay on the floor, but all of a sudden a wave of bone crunching agony blossoms from my chest and I pass out instantly until I'm as still as death.

**CPOV**

Isabella's office was just as dark and suffocating as her apartment, it felt like a cave. I put the phone back in its receiver more forcibly than intended, exhaling heavily. "Now they tell me Tessa Danvers's is at her families Lake House, In Scotland."

"No address?" Eleazer asks bluntly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

I shake my head, eyebrows drawing together. "This doesn't make sense, Eleazer. I know Isabella plays a part in this War, but what advantage does her friend give? How come she is important enough to take away too, when their secrecy is in danger?"

"I doubt she is of little importance, but rather a pawn in their plot." He flicks a dark lock of hair from his face.

I felt an awful sensation brew its way up my throat. I wish they could just take all of this away, with my guilt. Would they even look twice at such a crumbling fool, as I could feel the cracks appear in my appearance? Was it over? Was this it and had I given up so easy?

They could take it all, with my love, but I would not let any harm come to Isabella. "I hope for Isabella's sake she stays safe."

Eleazer could say nothing to that and ducked into the shadows to check through her shelves until he was a hunched figure in the corner, nothing but the occasional flick of his robes visible. Pulling her chair aside and placing the book of poetry onto the desk, I opened drawers searching for anything of valuable interest, but to no avail. We found nothing but scraps of old timetables, notes and empty bottles. I fell into her chair with a thump, feeling my weight make it crash closer to the floor. The material was rough against my skin and I leant forward to rest on my arms, my elbow jerking her opened laptop to life.

It blinded me for a moment until I was sure tears would follow, but instead only loading sounds from the laptop encased my ears. "Perhaps something worth knowing is on her hard drive," I exclaim.

Eleazer didn't even flinch at the sound bouncing off the thin walls of many cardboard box sized offices, but rather continued to examine dust patterns with efficient fingers. "I have no patience of modern technology," he drawled over his boredom in contemporary machinery.

Most of Isabella's work files were jaded and of little use to our investigation into her location, but rather just products of her teaching work. I tapped my fingers nonchalantly against the keyboard, fetching up files that seemed so inconsequential to what we wanted. There were even documents on Thomas Hardy poems.

The first poem "The Stranger's Song" led to a new file containing others, whereas the file for "Rose-Ann" was a dead-end and was just notes and principle observations. Clicking back to the new files found in the first poem, I worked my way through until I found a string of dead-ends and pathways through the use of poems – it was an complex, yet simple design to the protection of something precious, yet I couldn't figure out what, or how.

"Carlisle," Eleazer awakens me from my reflection, from combing through the corners of my mind for anything to relate to this pattern. Isabella was too smart and if she wanted anyone to find this labyrinth of encrypted poems, it would be us. "I found something."

Drawn away from the wall was a replica of a Dali painting, the colours a subdued mass of tangled streaks in the dark. Behind it was a safe plugged into the wall, a combination live and waiting to be inputted. My fingers tingled with anticipation, feeling my knuckles scrap against the skin. "We do not know the password," I state the obvious just to fill the eerie silence.

He taps his nose as if to signal keeping a secret. "You know Isabella well enough to understand this would not be placed here, unless for something of major inconvenience." He gestures to the poetry book lying on the desk. "You brought that here for some reason."

Eleazer's words trigger something inside of me like releasing a bullet from a gun. My nerves shake with this discovery, so much that my fingers seem like a blur as I race through the pages of the book: searching for the familiar words of "The Stranger's Song" which are trapped on my tongue.

"Eleazer," I point toward the safe as I bend over the laptop, clicking furiously on the pattern of files. Of course it was an outlined model, how could I have not seen it? Admiration for Isabella's intelligence trickles inside of me briefly. "The Stranger's Song, the first poem in this archetype is on page two," I think out loud to myself.

"Carlisle," Eleazer seems mutually confused. "What has this to do with the combination?"

"Follow the numbers I give you," I inform, a potent strictness lacing my voice. The next poem that triggered a new file was "The Ballet" and that was on page five – I remember Isabella telling me of her love for watching this particular type of dance; the flowing and synchronized bodies that twisted around one another in a passionate harmony – next "In A Whispering Gallery" was on page seven and lastly "Last Love-Word" on page nine. "Here's the code: 2, 5, 7 and 9."

The numbers are keyed into the safe straight away, the bleeping of the machinery loud in my eyes as each lock releases with a squeal of protest like it could sense this wrong presence in front of it. Eleazer claps me on the shoulder, "Good job, Carlisle. I knew you brought that book for some reason."

I would not tell Eleazer that it were my memories that drew me to the book, rather than my desire to decrypt some safe. Slipping my hand into the hole in the wall, it felt shreds of paper and a leather-bound book brush against the palm of my hand. I pulled out newspaper clippings and a journal.

We spread them out across the desk. "A safe is needed for shreds of newspaper, it seems so unworthy," Eleazer says, moving them around across the surface trying to order them somehow.

"There must be a reas-" Eleazer's phone rings and he shuffles to take the call, his posture more rigid than previously.

Just before the chaos descends I see the pattern reflected across the cuttings, so I quickly rearrange them until I see it loud and clear: these are arranged and dated in order of vampire attacks in London.

The phone clicks off and Eleazer's hand is hard against my shoulder as if to reinforce me. He doesn't get a chance to recognize the flow of dates as I do before the words tumble from his now slack jaw: "Alice has a location."

I don't even have time to consider the words "Aro agreed to my proposal" on the first page of the black-bound journal before the idea fleeing to save Isabella is such a powerful feeling it makes my chest tight. Gathering everything as fast as possible, we escape from Isabella's office into the dead of night to find Jasper, Alice and Rosalie standing outside waiting for us.

"Where?" I demand almost instantly, adrenalin an electric current sparking in my veins.

"Not far from here, perhaps a few miles." Rosalie retorts bitterly, her eyes then falling to Alice who seems a little pale and unsteady on her feet. I want to ask her if she's alright, but by knowledge I know it will have to wait till were alone. "It took us long enough. Did you find anything?"

Eleazer cuts me off before I can get a say. "We didn't," he says before giving me a sharp-handed look.

Jasper opens the car door for Alice who slips inside as silently as a phantom, "We better hurry. Alice says that their moving soon. You can follow behind." He gestures to my Black Mercedes behind us and tosses the keys into air before I snatch them.

They speed off into the night and I slide into the car, being careful to place Isabella's poetry book and her journal on the back seat, leaving Eleazer standing in the cold. "Carlisle," he urges, grasping the car door tightly as the engine purrs underneath us. "You must stay in control; I cannot help you from Volterra."

"I understand my old friend" I grasp his wrist through the open window before pulling away from the curb as fast as a striking cobra leaving Eleazer behind in the night, and racing toward Isabella and her fading heartbeat.

It felt silly to stretch muscles that were already tense with unreleased adrenalin, but I forced myself to pull my arms in front of me until the skin started cramp from the rigidity. I repeat the exercise with my legs trying to work away the images that crept into my thoughts.

"Unless they present immediate danger, don't kill them," I order, pulling my hunched body from the floor and dust the knee's of my pants.

"If they attack us," Rosalie exclaims, pressing her palms together. Her expression was sour and distasteful, but I had become used to her unsubtle outburst of opinion, even if it wasn't required to reinforce our current dangerous situation. "Were just going to stand there?"

Jasper gestures out a hand as if to cup the air in his palm. "We need someone to interrogate afterward, Rosalie," stating the obvious.

Something like pity pools in my gut. Whoever is caught will be interrogated by the Volturi, and that never ends in a pretty picture. It includes a lot of bloodthirsty violence, pleas of mercy and then finally one broken body like fractured glass lying on the floor. I felt the need to shake my head to rid myself of these images, but I didn't dare show any opposition to the Volturi's mannerisms as they saw everything. They even had eyes for walls sometimes.

"We go in, find Isabella and then leave instantly. Understand?" I repeat the list out loud after having cemented it in my own brain. However much I would want to confront the Noel brother, my chances of survival were slim and I needed Isabella safe first.

Everyone nods in approval, but I can see the grim reality in their thin smiles. None of us have ever wanted to go into battle with the potential that someone may never return. Just as we approach the slim entrance to the building I feel a small hand wrap around my arm above the elbow, drawing me away.

I see the fear in her eyes for the first time. "Alice," I say more softly than ever before, as if my words could scar her. "What's wrong?"

"There's something you're not telling me, Carlisle," Alice insists until that persistent fire raises in her once more until her spine's iron stiff, hand blocking me from moving away. It spreads to her eyes until there are crystal flames burning in her pupils. "I can tell when something's on your mind."

There's no escaping Alice, she's as keen and observant as a bird. "I'm afraid there is little we can do after we have rescued Isabella, the Volturi will surely know of her presence then," I confess a little bit more truthfully than I could muster.

I fail to mention of a suspected connection already between Isabella and the Volturi and my findings in her office, as I feel I must confront her first. Instead I sing a misguided lie that was in the back of my mind, that as I spoke, the words unfolded into something more truthful: something that sent my worries spiraling out of control for a moment, leaving me feeling unbalanced.

"We will keep her safe," she squeezes my shoulder for a second, raw sympathy in the gesture. "I promise."

"Thank you, Alice," I say, feeling her fingers withdraw from my shoulder. All of a sudden the loss of contact makes me unsteady again.

As she walks toward Jasper I shout, "Alice." She turns to look at me, her jaw tight. "I appreciate what you did for Isabella."

"Thank me when we know she's safe, Carlisle." The words are short, but lenient. Alice never was happy with my fixation on Isabella's protection: she was static with my decision to defend Isabella Swan from any danger, declaring she's capable of guarding herself if she's survived this long already.

With Jasper leading Rosalie and Alice from the shelter of the car and toward the building that was supposedly disguised as a club, I slow my breathing and halt any hasty decisions that slipped into my mind in those fast paced seconds. I join them in three prompt steps, feeling a brisk wind follow behind me like dry bones rattling across the pavement.

Were standing just outside the door, our unnecessary breathing heavy in the air; I feel like I was against the metal and it was smothering me, the metallic smell filling my nose. I even swore I could sense the mass of icy bodies behind it, pressing in against me as the pads of my fingers glided across the frame of the metal door.

"Ready?" I ask, my adrenalin like a weight falling in my chest.

"Oh just get on with it already," Alice drones excessively, taking a step back and then with kicks the door down with the powerful force of her foot. We pile inside almost as quick as the metal strikes the floor and we instantly notice the stench of death in the air. I force down the lump in my throat.

I rush ahead to find two vampires crouched and ready to fight. Given the tactual advantage I wrap my arms around the first one's neck and snap it until it seems to dangle from the flesh of his throat, the sound like snapping a sheet of glass and pull the other's arm around his back, twisting his wrist. He growls in protest, laces his free arm around my neck. I don't even feel his ice cold skin slide against mine before I toss him over my head, throwing him to the ground and behead him.

By the time they others are behind me, there's nothing but two burning corpses and matching heads in the middle of the room. Rosalie flicks a curl behind her ear, "That was short lived," she mocks.

"If you find either of the Noel brothers, do not engage them in combat," I command, cracking my knuckles in persistence. "Their skills out-weigh ours tenfold."

"Find Bella, Carlisle," Jasper says, the exertion of battle already showing on his face. "We'll take care of everything else."

As soon as we enter the main auditorium we split up straight away, tackling the vampires that were unaware of our attack. Some try to fight back, but they quickly lose as we have the upper hand. Jasper and Alice successfully knock down three vampires, their body's just silent masses of granite as tongues of flame lick away at them. Rosalie beheads another with a vicious nature that is only active during a fight, otherwise lies dormant.

I take another to the floor, pulling out my pocket lighter and setting him aflame until he's just a charred pile of ash. All of a sudden I'm thrown through the air, a growl set behind my teeth and I smash into the bar: broken glassware raining upon me like reflective raindrops and alcohol soaks into my clothes until I feel it clinging to my skin. I would become a walking fire hazard if I was to catch alight.

In the distance, Jasper and Alice are having some time tackling a bunch of vampires and Rosalie is circling another. His flawless dark skin is the shade of ebony, dreadlocks handing down his back like cords of thick rope. They are a mass of snapping teeth, growls and the sound of flesh striking flesh.

"You'll never get your precious human back," she snarls, her hair like flames perched on top of her head, snapping around her face wildly. "Soon she'll be gone."

The word "gone" had so many meanings to me and they all flashed through my head – dead, moved, joined their side – but I didn't have the chance to suffer from those images. Instead I stood up, brushing glass from my torn shirt and let my fangs slide down until they pierced my bottom lip.

Flexing my fingers, I imagine curling them around her neck. A torturous smile played on her lips, her paper-like skin creased in manic laughter. "You will never hurt her again," I hiss then we hit like a neutron star collision.

Her nails rake against the skin of my neck, chest and face and I feel her draw blood occasionally. Our battle is nothing but a rapid shift from almost beheading, to suffocation then to having each other in a death lock all in a matter of seconds. From the corner of my eye I see an opening then I strike her at the ribcage with the heel of my foot, she falters and then I smash her against the inactive dance floor. The glass now has a spider web of cracks around her.

I go for a punch to her face but she dodges, pulling me to the floor, until were rolling back and forth struggling to gain the upper hand as we are both tightly clenching each other's throats. All of a sudden there is a blood-curdling scream from below us – the venom in my veins freezes over as I recognize it as Isabella in the basement! – The red-head, Victoria, snaps at my neck and all a little to sudden rage encompasses me and a red haze covers my vision.

"You're never going to save her," she growls, but it's low and throaty from the collapse of her airways, regardless if she needs to use them, or not.

Throwing her underneath me, her words adding to the rage boiling deep inside of me, I forcibly hold her wrists to the dance floor until the broken glass draws blood and sink my fangs into her neck. The taste of venom is bitter and almost putrid, like rotten blood, to another vampire.

Pulling away I see Rosalie jump onto Laurent's back, hands on either side of his head, breaking it away from his spinal cords until it falls to the floor with a thump. With my attention diverted, Victoria scrambles away from me but not before she is caught by Jasper. I jump up ready to resume my battle with her, my eyes nothing but an insatiable pool of black lust to kill, but Alice captures me in a tight grip, shaking me so violently. "Carlisle," she shouts until it vibrates in my ear drums. "Find Bella," before she breaks off to engage another vampire.

"Isabella," the word tumbles from my dry lips, to thin of a whisper for anyone to hear.

The red haze retreats from my vision, the idea of Isabella beaten and broken in the basement breaking me from my deadly reverie. Racing to the basement door I break the lock in my grasp and throw myself into the darkness with the stench of decay heavy in the air. Dread was like a rusty cog within a working machine and if it continued it would break the whole machine. At that moment, feeling my way for the girl I sworn to protect, I felt like a misguided ghost.

Then I smell her blood: I felt as if I could breathe in her scent and fill my lungs and live forever on the simple scent of everything I desired – that was what it was like, everything I ever desired or loved wrapped into one glorious and heavenly scent, as if it was sent to be my torment and ethereal pleasure.

Hitting the ground, my fingertips find her neck to scout for a pulse as I frantically try to grasp the threads of reality, anything to distract me from the lure of feeding on this beautiful creature. Her heart beat is so faint it reminds me of the silent beatings of a hummingbird's wings in winter.

"What have they done to you?" My voice is thick with the choking horror of her ordeal and the flaring burn in my throat telling me to feed.

Isabella is nothing but a fracture of what she had once been. From observing a young girl flourish into a beautiful and intelligent young woman, like the bud of a flower opening in summertime, to a limp and almost lifeless mass on the floor. Across her chest was a deep wound slit into the skin, like a gaping mouth, from her left shoulder, across the chest to end at the base of her stomach.

Grasping her fingers, I push a strand of lank hair from her temple as I swallow the fear away. "I'm going to save you, Isabella, I promise," I mutter like only she could hear. Hopefully she could.

Holding her limp body against mine, her almost silent pulse thudding against my frozen heart, I bite back the flames and bent my head over her body; lips parted and taste her blood for the first time. It exploded in my mouth like fireworks, quenching the thirst but never enough – with Isabella I had always been able to smell the allure of her blood; yet the feeling of dehydration had only just occurred in the past few years, the yearning for a taste becoming a tangible craze for myself.

After licking away from the blood from her more serious wounds, raising my wrist to my mouth I bite down to release my venom. It flows freely until I open Isabella's pale lips and it trickles inside.

For a few torturously long seconds I feel the life flow back into her and then her eyes open briefly. "Carlisle," she mumbles, yet it's practically silent and I only just catch it. Then she collapses again.

Scanning the room there is no sign of anymore life, except several corpses of young girls – two only just dying some time beforehand - which I mourn quietly to myself before leaving the basement, Isabella held tightly in my arms. I take no time to survey the flaming bodies, but just leave the building within a flash of a moment.

"You found her?" Alice chimes as soon as I'm outside, bundling us inside the car. Once she notices Isabella's condition her face looks as if it's paling. "Oh gosh," she holds a hand to her mouth.

Jasper turns in his seat, looking at me in concern. I can see her eyes black with the desire to taste Isabella's blood, like I. "Where to, Carlisle?" he questions, holding his breath as Alice reaches for his hand.

"Home, she needs urgent medical attention," my words slur into one hurried sentence.

Besides Rosalie, luckily unconscious otherwise she'd have to kill him, is a vampire from inside. This was who was chosen to be interrogated by the Volturi. He looked almost harmless in sleep, but I knew once he awoke he'd be as deadly as ever.

Rosalie is looking at Bella with sad eyes, remorse cut deep into her chosen words. She brushes at Isabella's forehead, stroking her skin tenderly as if a womanly touch will keep her with us long enough to get her home. I know that at that moment she's remembering her own ordeal. "It's amazing she's survived so much," she murmurs wryly.

As we pull away from the building that had became a spider trap for young teenagers, and for Isabella until she was on the brink of losing her life – on the verge of giving up – and for me when I was closer to the edge, close to taking her life and losing all control, the flames engulfed the building as they rose from the rooftop. From a slice of darkness in the corner I watched a figure emerge: blonde hair the colour of bleached holy water, lean muscles, eyes the colour of blood that told me it wasn't over. It was just beginning.

Devlin Noel.

I held Isabella so tightly in the curl of my arms that I felt as if she could merge with me, become one person. At that moment her fingers tightened around mine, just as my ribcage constricted around my most vital organs.

"I will protect you," I made a silent promise to her mute gesture.


End file.
